


Before It Was Cool

by Kiraly



Series: Kiraly's Hipster Band AU [1]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alcohol, Also there will be bikes, Alternate Universe - Hipsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, and charming letters home from Reynir, and urban farms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life can be hard when you're a 20-something in the city. Drummer Tuuri must find a way to keep the band together while also balancing her day job and family obligations. When she meets a red-haired bartender fresh off the turnip truck, will life get easier...or infinitely more complicated?</p><p>(Basically a hipster band AU with lots of other elements that come with being young and broke in the city.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy at the Bar

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, all characters are of legal drinking age. (And if anyone is shown drinking alcohol, assume they showed proper ID.)

The song ended with screeching guitar strings and crashing cymbals.

“That little number was _Most Best_ , a new song from our upcoming EP:  _Shoot First, Aim Later._  We’re gonna take a break, but be sure to stick around for our next set. I’m Sigrun Eide, and we’re the Troll Hunters!”

Sigrun stepped away from her microphone and dropped her guitar on the stand. Before the rest of the band could leave the stage, she whirled and leveled a finger at Emil. “What was that?!”

Emil stood back from his keyboard and flexed his fingers. “What was _what_? I played perfectly! That second bridge—“

“Was supposed to be a guitar solo!” Sigrun growled. “I _specifically_ said that, but _you_ —“

Behind them, Tuuri laid her drumsticks down and sighed. Those two would spend the next ten minutes arguing. She could try to mediate—again—but it probably wouldn’t make a difference. Sigrun would shout that Emil didn’t respect her leadership, Emil would whine that Sigrun didn’t appreciate his “artistic vision”, and by the time the next set started they’d be back to talking about what they were going to do when the band made it big. Personally, Tuuri had other things she’d rather do during her break.

She glanced around for Lalli on her way to the bar, but he’d fled the stage as soon as the last note died away. Her cousin usually disappeared during the breaks—Tuuri suspected Mikkel let him hide out in the back room. The bar’s owner _looked_ intimidating, but underneath he seemed to have a soft spot. After all, he let the Troll Hunters play regular gigs at the Mad Moose, and that showed at least _some_ capacity for compassion. They probably weren’t hurting his business—much—but Tuuri doubted they were helping it.

Right now the burly proprietor was busy fulfilling his other role: bouncer. Tuuri could see him over by the door, calmly suggesting to two young men that they come back with proper ID or not at all. That left the new bartender to wait on Tuuri. _Perfect._

“Hi there! Can I help you?” The red-haired man asked. He favored Tuuri with a smile that reached all the way up to his green eyes.

Tuuri grinned back. “A glass of water, please.” Nothing stronger for her tonight—she had to get the beat-up van full of instruments and equipment home in one piece. Neither of the boys could drive the rattletrap vehicle without stalling it, and Sigrun—well, Tuuri wasn’t even sure if she drove.

Fortunately, there was more to bars than fancy drinks. Tuuri rested her elbows on the bar and watched the new bartender scoop ice into a glass. He was tall and thin—not broad and muscled like Mikkel, but sturdier-looking than Lalli. His hair was braided and twisted into a knot at the back of his neck; strands escaped to frame his freckled face. Tuuri pushed her own bangs back and reached out to take the full glass from him. Their hands brushed together; his fingers left trails in the condensation.

“There you go! Lots of ice—I know it must be even hotter under the stage lights. You guys sounded good up there!”

Tuuri took a sip of her water. “That’s kind of you,” she said. He was right about the heat; air conditioning was hit-or-miss at the Mad Moose, and Tuuri already regretted her clothing choices. Ankle boots and black skinny jeans _looked_ cool, but they weren’t suited to the summer heat. Even with her sleeveless shirt, she was glad of the cold water. She wasn’t so sure about the compliment though. “Good” wasn’t quite the right word for their music. The bar’s patrons could probably have come up with some more colorful descriptions, if they even cared. Most of the time they went about their drinking without acknowledging the band was there at all—and that was on a good night. When there were hecklers, the last set usually ended with Sigrun shouting “fight me!” and breaking tables.

 But Tuuri had plenty of time to think about the band’s success—or lack thereof—while she was playing. Right now there was something else on her mind. “So you’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked.

The bartender wiped the counter with a rag. “I guess it’s really obvious, huh? It’s only my second day, so I’m not very good at anything yet. Technically…” he glanced toward the door, where Mikkel was still reasoning with the underage would-be drinkers, “I’m not supposed to serve anyone without Mikkel over here. He says he doesn’t want me to mess anything up.” He shrugged. “Hopefully it was okay for me to give you water. I can’t ruin _that_ , right?”

Tuuri chuckled. “I think you did a good job. It’s definitely water.” She stretched out a hand. “What’s your name? I’m Tuuri.”

His hand dwarfed hers when he shook it. “I’m Reynir. It’s nice to meet you, Tuuri! I’ve never met anyone who’s in a real band before.”

A blush warmed Tuuri’s cheeks; she told herself it was the summer heat. _A real band._ It sounded so _special_ when he said it like that. Not at all like the reality: hauling her drum kit up narrow flights of stairs, playing for crowds so deep in their cups it wouldn’t have mattered how they sounded, listening to Emil fight with Sigrun—

“Hey fuzzy head! Quit flirting with the bartender and get over here, we’re on in two minutes!”

Sigrun’s shout made Tuuri jerk her hand out of Reynir’s—she hadn’t realized he was still holding it—and some of her water spilled on the bar. She was definitely blushing now, and she wasn’t the only one.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t be distracting you when you’re about to play. Let me clean that up.“ Ears red, Reynir blotted at the puddle with the rag. He kept his eyes on the counter.

Tuuri backed away. “Oh, no, you’re okay! I’m sorry I spilled that and made more work for you. I, uh…it was nice talking to you!” She turned and fled back to the stage, where Sigrun tapped impatient fingers on her guitar. Emil had unearthed Lalli from his hiding place and was in the process of dragging him into position next to his bass. Tuuri slid behind her drum kit just in time.

“Right, so now that Tuuri’s done with her date, let’s get this show on the road. The fans await!” Sigrun said. She turned to face the audience and launched into an introduction for the next song. The audience didn’t react at all; one man snored with his head on the table next to a puddle of beer. Emil rolled his eyes and set his hands on the keyboard; Lalli clutched his bass and did his best to look at no one.

Tuuri held her drumsticks and waited for Sigrun’s cue, willing her blush to cool. _It wasn’t a_ date _. We were just talking! Why does Sigrun have to be so…so…_

Whatever Sigrun was, she wouldn’t wait around while Tuuri thought about it. She finished her introduction and signaled to Tuuri, who put her boot to the pedal and set the beat for their first song. With the music pouring through her, she didn’t have time to brood over bartenders or anything else. She was a focused percussive force. Only once, when she glanced up between songs, did her concentration waver. Reynir was still standing at the bar, and he was looking right at her. When Tuuri’s eyes met his, he grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

Tuuri almost missed her cue for the next song.

* * *

 

 

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_How are you? I promised I would write, and look, here I am! It’s even on paper, though I keep telling you email would be faster._

_The city is awesome so far! Everyone at my internship is great, and I’ve already learned so much. Now, I know you’re worried about what I’ll do for money, since they can’t afford to pay much, and I have good news about that. I got a second job! One of our customers mentioned that he was looking for some part-time help, so now I work as a bartender a few nights a week. I’m still learning, but I haven’t messed anything up (other than breaking a few glasses, which Mikkel says is normal) so that’s good._

_Life is much busier here in the city than it is at home. There are so many people! It seems like there’s always something going on. I got to see a real live band play while I was working last night. Everyone acted like it was no big deal, can you imagine? I wonder if I’ll ever get to that point. Probably not—like Mom says, I’ll always be your little farm boy at heart._

_Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Lots to do! I’ll write again soon._

_Love, your son,_

_Reynir_

_p.s. Oh! I almost forgot. Not only did I see a band, but their drummer actually talked to me!! She was really friendly, so don’t go worrying about inhospitable city people._

_p.p.s. The kitty is doing just fine, so don’t worry about her either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never planned to write an AU, but I accidentally doodled Tuuri and Reynir in skinny jeans and suddenly this happened. Not sure how long this will be yet, but I have ideas for at least a few chapters. Constructive feedback welcome, especially since I'm still writing the story.
> 
> Also, I might go into more relationships than just Tuuri/Reynir, but I assume if I do that I can change the category later. *crosses fingers*


	2. The Girl on the Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuuri goes to work and finds her day is busier than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover that Tuuri has a job! Because for some reason being in a rock band isn't paying the bills.

“Lalli? Are you still awake?”

Tuuri knocked on her cousin’s door with one hand and tried to pull her shoe on with the other. She leaned against the door to get her balance and nearly fell over when Lalli opened it.

“Mrrh.” Lalli wasn’t at his most talkative in the morning, especially not the day after playing a show. He was mostly nocturnal anyway, since his programming job allowed him to set his own hours, but staying out late meant less time for coding when he got back. Tuuri could see the glow of monitors behind him, so apparently he was still working.

“Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you. Did you eat? I’m running late, but I could cook something.” Tuuri tried to make sure Lalli ate a proper meal at least once a day. If she didn’t catch him before she left for work, she wouldn’t see him until the sun went down.

In answer, Lalli held out a bowl for Tuuri’s inspection. It was still half-full, but at least that meant he had eaten _something._ “Oh, Lalli. Ramen again?” Tuuri asked with a sigh.

Her cousin shrugged. When she made no move to leave, he took another bite of the noodles. “See? I’m eating.”

“Well, all right. Next time maybe you can put a vegetable in there. Or something with protein?”

Lalli slurped a bit of noodle into his mouth and stared at her.

“You know what, nevermind. I’ll cook something tonight. Sleep well!” Tuuri managed to get her shoe on and scooped up her messenger bag. She ran up the basement stairs and nearly plowed into Emil on his way to the fridge.

“Did you say something about food?” he asked. “I’m starving, and we’re out of milk again.”

Tuuri slung the bag over her shoulder and grabbed her helmet from the table. “We’re out already? I thought you were going to pick some up yesterday.”

Emil scuffed his foot on the grimy linoleum. “I _was_ , but apparently my check can’t be cashed until Thursday, and I only have—“

Tuuri cut him off. “Fine, I’ll get some after work. Vegetables, too. I’m cooking tonight before band practice.”

Emil brightened. “Really? Do you want me to help? I saw this recipe on Pinterest for grilled zucchini—“

“No!” Tuuri hurried toward the front door. “It’s fine, I don’t need help. Just—don’t touch the grill, okay?” They’d had to call the fire department the last time Emil grilled something. _And_ the last time he’d baked. When he’d somehow managed to light the microwave on fire, Tuuri had suggested that maybe he should stick to cereal and sandwiches unless she was home. They went through a lot of bread and milk, but it was cheaper than renters’ insurance.

Tuuri closed the door with a sigh of relief. Emil and Lalli weren’t _bad_ roommates, but sometimes she needed a break from them. She wheeled her bike down the row of houses, pausing to mount up when she got to the main street. The sun beat down on the back of her neck as she rode, sending a trickle of sweat down her back. Another scorcher today, then. This was shaping up to be the hottest summer on record, but Tuuri didn’t mind. Sunshine always lifted her spirits.

 The ride to work took twenty minutes, so Tuuri had plenty of time to think. She often ran through drum cadences in her head—they helped her pedal at a steady rhythm—but today her mind wandered. She kept coming back to the previous night’s show. _No,_ she corrected herself, _not the show. The bartender._

Even now thinking of him turned her cheeks bright red. The conversation had been going so well, but then…well, Sigrun happened, and Tuuri had gotten flustered and spilled her drink. _He must think I’m an idiot! I only wanted to talk, but now it will look like I was trying to flirt with him. And if I actually_ tried _to flirt with him, it would be even worse!_ Tuuri wasn’t the best at flirting in the first place—she was too sincere, and compliments made her uncomfortable—but now she wouldn’t even be able to try.

 _I’ll have to see him again eventually, the Mad Moose isn’t a big place. Maybe I can pretend like nothing happened. Maybe I can get Sigrun to tell him she was joking._ No. The thought of asking Sigrun to talk to him for her made Tuuri shiver in spite of the burning sun. Tuuri had allowed Sigrun to act as her wing-woman once—just once. Tuuri had never been able to go back to that bar again, and even being in the same neighborhood made her twitchy. She appreciated Sigrun as a bandmate, but they had different approaches to dating.

 _It’s too bad, though,_ she thought, letting her bike coast to a stop in front of her destination, _if I were more like Sigrun, I would have gotten his number._

Tuuri locked her bike to the rack and continued into the shop. “Good morning, Taru! Sorry I’m late,” she called as she passed the office.

Her boss poked her head out and leaned on the doorframe. “Late again, hmm? Guess I’ll just have to make you work harder, then. A bucket of sweat for every minute.”

Tuuri tossed her helmet on the workbench and wiped her forehead. “Shouldn’t take long in this weather. What do we have today?”

Taru handed over a grease-spotted list. “A bunch of small stuff. Couple of new tires, a set of brakes…oh, and the Larsen family wants you to do tune-ups.”

Tuuri read the last item on the list and groaned. “Let me guess, on all _seven_ of their bikes, right?”

“And re-wrap their handlebars,” Taru added. Seeing her employee’s glum expression, she grinned and patted Tuuri on the shoulder. “Hey, at least they’re a regular paycheck, right? And _you_ get to have more fun than I do—I’ll be in the office shifting mountains of paperwork until I get those taxes done.”

“I know, but…” Tuuri sighed. “I just feel bad taking their money for something so simple. They could do it themselves! All they need is the right wrench and—“

“And a cheerful mechanic willing to do the dirty work for them!” Taru finished. “You know how we work; if they don’t know how to do a basic fix and they’re willing to stay and let us teach, we can do it for free the first time. But if they won’t let us show them how, they have to pay. Keeps UpCycle in business and food on our tables, right?”

“I guess so,” Tuuri said. It didn’t _feel_ right, but she couldn’t change Taru’s policies. And she knew not every bike shop would even do as much; it was generous of Taru to offer basic repair lessons for first-time customers. But that didn’t make her any more enthusiastic about re-wrapping seven sets of handlebars. With another sigh, she took her list and got to work.

The morning dragged on. By the time Tuuri finished wrapping her last handlebar, she was more than ready to take a break and get out of the shop for a while. So she wasn’t in the most accommodating mood when Taru came looking for her.

“Do you have a minute to give a lesson? We’ve got a newbie on our hands.”

Tuuri’s reluctance must have shown on her face, because Taru put on her best cajoling smile. “Come on, you know you want to. You can take your lunch break after you’re done, all right? Take an extra fifteen minutes, even.” Both of them knew that Tuuri spent most of her lunch break walking around the neighborhood, drinking in the sights and sounds of the busy arts district. Fifteen extra minutes to stare at vibrant shop windows or even more colorful street performers—it was worth waiting for.

“All right, I’ll do it,” she said.

Taru grinned. “That’s the spirit! You won’t regret it, either—he’s cute.”

Tuuri rolled her eyes as Taru ducked back into the office to fetch the client. Even though Taru was twice her age and happily single, she kept trying to set Tuuri up with their young male customers. Tuuri had tried telling her it didn’t matter what the cyclist looked like, only what shape his bike was in, but Taru didn’t listen.

So when the customer wheeled his bike in and Tuuri’s jaw dropped, she could see her boss grinning like a madwoman all the way across the room. He _was_ cute. And familiar.

Long red hair blazed in the sunlight, and now that his braid was no longer knotted at the back of his neck it stretched past his waist. He wore jeans and a green t-shirt with the words _Silent World Organic Farm_ printed on it; his boots looked like they would be at home on a farm too.

_Dammit, Taru._

“Tuuri! I didn’t know you worked here! What are the odds?” His cheerful greeting showed no sign that she’d made a total fool of herself the night before. Tuuri was so grateful she wanted to hug him. _He probably gives really good hugs, now that I think about it—no, stop that. Business._

“Hey Reynir,” she managed, “small world.” She could feel herself grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious. “So, uh…what seems to be the problem with your bike?” she asked.

Reynir ruffled his hair—it was sticking out all over from being under his helmet—and raised his arms in a helpless gesture. “Probably a lot of things, to be honest. It was my brother’s, and he hasn’t really used it for years so I thought I would bring it to the city with me, but...I’m not sure that was a good idea. The chain keeps falling off, and the pedals are at a weird height, and now that I think about it he may have said something about the brakes—“

Tuuri was already inspecting the chain, only half-listening to the rest of what Reynir said. A tiny part of her brain was buzzing excitedly over her good luck— _oh my gosh this guy is here and he’s still cute in the daylight and maybe now I can get his phone number_ —but the rest of her was determinedly ignoring that part and thinking about the job in front of her. She took the chain off and gestured for Reynir to follow her to her workbench. “Sounds like we have a couple of easy fixes here. Your frame’s in good shape, and the tires should be fine for now. I’ll have to test the brakes, but we’ll start with the chain. It’s a little too long, so we’re going to shorten it.”

Reynir peered at the assortment of objects on the workbench, mostly tools with a smattering of discarded bike parts. “Wow. I have _no_ idea what _any_ of this is for.”

Tuuri grinned and picked up the chain breaker. “Well, you’re about to learn.”

The next half hour was equal parts frustrating and enjoyable. Frustrating, because Tuuri badly wanted to ask Reynir more about himself, but she didn’t want to distract him while they were working. He hadn’t exaggerated; he knew _nothing_ about bike repair, even the simplest thing like tightening the bolts. It was the kind of thing that usually annoyed Tuuri, but in Reynir’s case it was endearing; he was so eager to be helpful. She couldn’t be upset when it was clear he truly wanted to learn.

When they had fixed almost everything, Tuuri stepped back from the bike and wiped her hands on a rag. “That’s just about done. Say, Reynir…is your brother shorter than you?”

Reynir blinked. “Which one?”

“Uh…the one you got the bike from? I didn’t know you had more than one,” Tuuri said.

“Oh, right,” Reynir said. “I actually have two brothers and two sisters. But, yes, Bjarni is shorter than I am. How did you know?” He had a smudge of grease on his nose, and it conspired with his freckles and puzzled expression to make him even more adorable. _None of that, Tuuri. Focus!_

Tuuri patted the bicycle’s worn seat. “This. It’s much too low for you, that’s why the pedals don’t feel right. Once we adjust it, you should be all set.”

Of course, Taru chose just the wrong moment—when Tuuri had her hands under the seat to adjust the height and Reynir straddled the frame so she knew how high to take it—to check on them. “Tuuri, are you ready for your break now, or…oh! I hope I’m not interrupting anything!”

Tuuri squeaked and very nearly raised the seat to a height that would have made Reynir squeak, too. She backed away quickly. “Taru! We were just finishing. I think his bike is ready, so, yes, my break, good…”

Taru looked between Tuuri’s bright red cheeks and the confused look on Reynir’s face, holding a hand over her mouth to keep her smile from showing. “Good, go ahead. Take as long as you like for lunch, you’ve earned a break. Maybe tall and pretty here will treat you.” She winked over her shoulder as she walked back to the office.

Tuuri waited for the floor to swallow her. When it didn’t, she attempted to turn the conversation back to a safer topic. “So...your bike should be done, if the seat feels better now. Is it…?”

Reynir was staring at her. “Did...did your boss just tell me to take you out to lunch?”

Truly, if there was any justice in the world the floor would swallow Tuuri any second now. Or Taru, for putting her in this position.

“Ahaha...yeah...she says crazy things sometimes,” Tuuri said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sure you have to be getting back to...wherever it is you’re going. Don’t let me keep you!”

Was it just her imagination, or did _Reynir_ look embarrassed now? He drummed his fingers on the handlebars and looked down at the floor. “Oh! Well, no, actually. I don’t have to be anywhere for an hour or so. I’ve never been to this neighborhood before, but everyone I asked said UpCycle was the best place to get help with my bike, so I thought I’d look for lunch when that was done. Umm…if you don’t already have plans, I’d be happy to…I mean, it would be nice…we could look for lunch together?” The hope in his eyes was palpable.

Tuuri’s stomach fluttered. _He actually wants to spend time with me?_ _To get lunch…together?_ The flutter in her stomach turned into a rumble, reminding her that she was hungry—and that Reynir was waiting for her answer. “Lunch sounds great!” she said, trying out a smile and finding that it wasn’t hard to come by. “What kind of food do you like? There are usually a ton of food trucks on the next block, we could walk down and see what smells good.”

Reynir matched her smile and followed her towards the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a meal I didn’t like. What’s a food truck?”

“Ooh, if you’ve never been—come on, you’ll love it!” Tuuri grabbed his arm and pulled him after her into the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much going on with the band in this chapter, more emphasis on the "hipster" part. Don't worry, we'll get back to the rest of the Troll Hunters soon. Also, I kind of wrote the next chapter already (it was all going to be one chapter but it turned out way too long) so expect that to be up soon.
> 
> Additional note: If you are experienced with bike repair and notice any glaring mistakes, please tell me! (Why did I decide to write about a bike mechanic when I don't even know how to ride a bike? The world may never know.)


	3. Pad Thai and Text Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuuri has lunch with Reynir and gets some texts from the other band members.

Linden Street was a riot of colors, sounds and smells. Bookstores nestled next to bakeries; record stores warred with buskers to see whose music could catch the attention of passersby. The street had everything: thrift shops, tiny markets for specialty foods, clothing boutiques, and enough coffee shops to satisfy the most hardcore caffeine addict. Food trucks flocked there in the warmer months, rotating by some unspoken agreement so there were always different options. They filled the air with the scent of frying oil, garlic, curry, roasting meat—if it could be cooked, chances were someone was cooking it on Linden Street.

Tuuri and Reynir perched on a bench with paper baskets on their laps, watching the crowd pass around them. Reynir took another bite, closing his eyes with a blissful moan. “Mmm. How have I lived this long without…what did you say this was called?”

Tuuri swallowed a mouthful of vegetable curry and grinned. “Pad Thai. They don’t have that on the farm, then?”

“No, and it’s a shame—I wonder if I could get the recipe.” Reynir blinked at her. “Wait. How did you know I grew up on a farm? Did I tell you?”

“What? No,” Tuuri said, laughing. “Your shirt says ‘Silent World Organic Farm’ on it.”

Reynir looked down at the words on his chest. “Oh. Actually, this is here in the city. They’ve turned a bunch of abandoned lots into gardens, growing fresh food instead of junk heaps. I have an internship there—it’s how I ended up in the city.” He poked at his food, then added, “I’ve only been here for a month, so…I thought maybe I just…looked like a weird farm person.”

Tuuri raised an eyebrow. “Reynir. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but…half the people on this street look like they could be ‘farm people’. See all the plaid shirts? And seasonally inappropriate boots? Even if someone finds out you grew up on a farm, all they’ll probably do is ask you about the best composting methods.”

“People _compost_ here?” Reynir asked. “Why?”

Tuuri shook her head. “If you haven’t run into anyone with raised beds and a chicken coop in their backyard yet, you will soon. Lots of people do it, if they have the space and the time.”

“Do _you_?” He said it like he was asking if she grew wings and flew when the moon was full.

“No.” Tuuri sighed. “I don’t have enough of either of those—space _or_ time. But it must be nice, to have fresh vegetables right in your backyard. So much more convenient than the market.” _And easier than trying to get Emil or Lalli to stop at the market instead. Emil always complains about the prices, and Lalli…well, Lalli would forget the vegetables and come home with cookies._

Reynir fiddled with the end of his braid. “Vegetables, huh? You know…I could probably get some for you, if you want.”

“Really?” Tuuri dropped her empty curry container in her surprise; she lunged to recover it, but Reynir got there at the same time. Their fingers brushed together, and it was lucky Reynir had a good grip because Tuuri nearly dropped it again. He smiled and stacked the empty carton with his. Tuuri settled back on the bench, acutely aware that their legs were now touching. She thought Reynir might notice and move away, but he didn’t—so she didn’t, either. _Calm down, Tuuri. It’s just…vegetables. We were talking about vegetables._

Reynir was still talking about vegetables, completely ignoring Tuuri’s clumsiness. “So the farm does this thing called a “CSA” where people can pay to get a box of whatever is ripe that week. I get a share because I work there, but it’s too much for me to eat alone. I can bring some by the bike shop!”

While the prospect of fresh vegetables was exciting, Tuuri cringed to think of what Taru would say if Reynir showed up with them. And speaking of Taru…

“I hate to say this, but we should probably start heading back,” she said. “My boss will expect me to be there soon, and I’m sure they need you at the farm.” Reynir nodded agreement and followed her back toward the bike shop. Lunch break was almost over, and she still hadn’t figured out a way to ask for his number. Maybe she could be sneaky about it? Say she needed to make a call and didn’t have her phone? No, that wouldn’t work; Emil kept texting to remind her to buy milk, so Reynir would know she had her phone. Could she pretend she needed it for work reasons? She sighed. Subterfuge wasn’t her forte. _Come on, it shouldn’t be this hard. He’s sweet, he won’t mind. Just ask him. You can do it._

She couldn’t. “So…you really don’t mind bringing me some vegetables? I don’t want to inconvenience you. Isn’t the bike shop a little out of your way?” _Ugh. What is wrong with me?!_

Reynir shrugged. “It’s not too hard to get here, now that I know how. Or I could always bring them to you at the Mad Moose—Mikkel said your band plays there every week, right? When’s your next show?”

Tuuri had forgotten Reynir worked there, too. “Oh, umm…Saturday, I think. I’ll have to ask Sigrun at practice tonight,” she said.  

Reynir’s eyes lit up. “Practice! That’s so cool. I can’t believe I know someone who’s in a real live band. Do you practice every night, or—oh no, I sound like a complete farm person, don’t I?”

The question startled a laugh out of Tuuri; her worry vanished, and she made a snap decision. “Are you busy tonight?” she asked.

“I…what? No, I’m not busy. Why do you—“

Tuuri held out a hand and smirked. “Got a phone, farmer boy?”

Reynir stared at her, then fished around in his pocket. “Yes, but what does that have to do with…?” He handed her the phone; it was still warm from his fingers.

Tuuri navigated to his contacts and started typing. “Well…if you aren’t busy, and you happen to have some extra vegetables…why don’t you come over for dinner? I was planning to stop at the market, so it would save me a trip. And…you could meet the rest of the band. If you want.” She offered the phone back to him. It had her phone number and address listed under the name _Bike Mechanic Girl_. “If you want to come, just let me know so we don’t end up with too much food.”

Reynir was quiet for a few minutes as they walked, staring down at his phone. Tuuri kept her silence too, but the worry started gnawing at her stomach again. Was that too forward? Was he trying to find a way to turn her down? Then her phone buzzed. _What do you want_ now _, Emil?!_

It wasn’t a number she recognized. The text said: _what veggies should I bring? And when?_

Tuuri looked over at Reynir. He was grinning and showing his phone screen; he’d updated her name to read _MOST BEST Bike Mechanic Girl_.

She smothered a laugh and texted back, _anything, really. Zucchini maybe? 6 o’clock?_

While he read her response, she set his contact name to _Farmer Boy_.

He laughed when she showed him. “Six is great. Now that my bike actually works, I should be able to get there.”

They were at the shop; any second Taru would see them and Tuuri would have to get back to work. She didn’t want this to be over, but—

“C’mere.” Reynir leaned down and hugged her before she could react.

Tuuri froze. _Oh my. He_ does _give good hugs!_

He pulled away just as quickly and smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Was that weird? After everything you’ve done for me today, I just felt like I should…” he trailed off.

Tuuri patted his arm. She wanted to hug him back, but Taru was at the door; it _would_ be weird, now. So all she did was smile and say, “See you tonight, Farmer Boy.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Transcripts from Tuuri's Phone**

 

_Conversation between Emil Västerström and Tuuri Hotakainen_

EMIL: Tuuuuuuuri…

EMIL: Come on, I know you’re there

EMIL: Did you remember about the milk?!?

EMIL: My cereal is sad :(

TUURI: Emil I am STILL ON MY LUNCH BREAK I’ll get milk later.

EMIL: Fine. Cereal still sad tho :(

EMIL: Are you sure I can’t use the stove?

EMIL: I’ll be careful!

EMIL: Pleeeease?

TUURI: NO NO NO NO!!

TUURI: Don’t you dare.

EMIL: …

EMIL: The grill?

TUURI: NOT UNLESS YOU WANT TO FIND A NEW ROOMMATE.

EMIL: Fiiiiiine I’ll think of something else to eat

 

_Conversation between Lalli Hotakainen and Tuuri Hotakainen_

LALLI: hes being weird again

TUURI: Lalli! Why are you awake right now?!

LALLI: emil

LALLI: keeps whining for ramen

TUURI: I will KILL him.

TUURI: Go back to sleep.

 

_Conversation between Tuuri Hotakainen and Emil Västerström_

TUURI: AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?

EMIL: I didn’t touch the stove I swear!!!

TUURI: Not that, Lalli!

EMIL: Oh. All I did was ask him to make me some ramen

EMIL: He clearly knows how

EMIL: and HE’S allowed to use the stove

TUURI: He’s supposed to be ASLEEP!

TUURI: If he falls asleep during practice tonight, I’m telling Sigrun it’s your fault.

EMIL: NOOOOO

EMIL: ANYTHING BUT THAT!

TUURI: Should have thought of that before you woke him up.

TUURI: Now go get a bagel from the coffee shop or something.

TUURI: And stop texting me, I’m busy.

EMIL: You won’t forget the milk, right?

TUURI: >_<

 

_Conversation between Sigrun Eide and Tuuri Hotakainen_

SIGRUN: BAND PRACTICE TONIGHT!!! DONT FORGET

SIGRUN: GOT A NEW SONG PLANNED

SIGRUN: CALLING IT STITCHES AND SCARS

SIGRUN: OR MAYBE KNIFE LOVE

TUURI: Haha, wow, that sounds…epic?

SIGRUN: HELL YEAH IT IS

TUURI: Excited for practice! Going to cook dinner first if you want to come early.

SIGRUN: DEPENDS ON WHATS COOKING FUZZYHEAD

TUURI: Vegetables? Maybe some chicken?

SIGRUN: UGH GARBAGE FOOD

SIGRUN: MIGHT COME ANYWAY THO

TUURI: Uh…okay?

TUURI: Oh, also, I invited a friend over for dinner…is it okay if he stays to watch us practice?

SIGRUN: HE???

SIGRUN: WAIT

SIGRUN: YOUR PRETTY DATE FROM LAST NIGHT???

SIGRUN: FRECKLES???

TUURI: …

TUURI: That was not a date.

TUURI: But yes, him.

SIGRUN: WELL LOOK AT YOU GO!!!

SIGRUN: ARE YOU SURE YOU DONT WANT TO CANCEL PRACTICE

SIGRUN: SO YOU TWO CAN HAVE SOME ALONE TIME

SIGRUN: *WINK WINK*

TUURI: No! It’s not like that!

SIGRUN: UH HUH

SIGRUN: SURE ITS NOT

TUURI: It isn’t! I only just met him!

TUURI: Look, I have to go.

TUURI: I’ll see you tonight.

SIGRUN: GONNA BE SEEING LOTS OF THINGS TONIGHT

SIGRUN: ARENT YOU???

SIGRUN: *WINK WINK*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The CSA box Reynir mentions is a real thing that happens - it stands for "Community Supported Agriculture". But that felt like a weird detail for him to mention so I just left it out.)
> 
> The next chapter will be longer in coming (I accidentally wrote most of this one at the same time as chapter 2, whoops) but it's a BAND PRACTICE chapter so it should be exciting.


	4. Weird Vegetables, Worries, and Wrasslin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band (plus a certain red-haired groupie) have dinner and attempt to practice. Several mentions of the bathroom, for some reason. Reynir and Tuuri continue to be awkward and adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has split POV! (I put breaks in between so you can tell when perspective switches; hopefully it's not confusing.)

“Emil! I swear, if you aren’t out of there in _one minute_ I will take this door off its hinges!” Tuuri rattled the knob for emphasis, which earned her a sulky reply from the other side of the door.

“Can’t a guy have a little privacy? I’m fixing my hair!”

Tuuri rolled her eyes. “You don’t need privacy for that! The mirror in your bedroom works just as well, and _some_ of us have to shower! Get out of there and go help Lalli with the cleaning.”

The door opened a crack, just enough to see one blue eye and a hint of sparkling blond hair. “Can’t you shower later? And…wait…did you say Lalli’s _cleaning_?”

Tuuri gripped the doorknob. “Ten seconds, Emil.”

“I mean… _Lalli? Cleaning?”_

“Time’s up.” Tuuri wrenched the door open, sending Emil sprawling in the hall. She stepped over him and swept a mountain of hair products off the sink and into a bag, which she tossed after him. “I’m showering now, before people get here. Lalli’s going to do some dishes as soon as you go remind him. While he’s doing that, _you_ can make sure none of your clothes are lying around the living room.”

“What?! No fair!” Emil grabbed for the door, but Tuuri got there first; it was locked. “Why do I have to clean while you shower?”

Tuuri pushed aside a pile of Emil’s shampoo bottles and replied, “Because we’re having company for dinner and I brought home a whole gallon of milk _on my bike_ for you. Go clean!” Emil’s steps receded, but Tuuri could still hear him muttering.

_Ugh, boys. I wonder what it would be like to live alone. Or at least with someone who picks up their dirty socks and doesn’t own enough conditioner for three people. I bet even Reynir doesn’t spend that much time on his hair, and it’s so long! He probably—oh, no, I’m doing it again! Stop thinking about boys when you’re in the shower, Tuuri!_

When Tuuri came downstairs ten minutes later, she wasn’t surprised to find two stray socks and a discarded t-shirt that Emil had missed. She _was_ surprised, when she went to start cooking the chicken, to find Emil and Lalli both standing over a sink full of soapy water.

“…and then we’ll loop back around to the first verse, but all the instruments will fade out until it’s just me—oh, hi Tuuri!” Emil said. He sounded… _chipper._

Tuuri stared. “Uh…what’s going on in here?”

Emil waved a plate in the air. “We’re washing the dishes, like you said!” He turned back to the sink, but not before Tuuri saw the smug grin tugging at his mouth. Something was up.

She turned to a more reliable source. “Lalli, what’s going on?”

Her cousin took a clean plate from Emil and patted it with a towel. “Emil saw some weird vegetable on your phone and thinks it’s funny.”

“Lalli! I told you not to say anything!” Emil said.

“What’s this about my phone?!” Tuuri asked. It was sitting on the kitchen counter, but she was certain she’d left it in the living room. She snatched it up and glared at Emil, who was smiling like someone with a secret. “Explain.”

Emil assumed an innocent expression. “Wellll, I was cleaning the living room like you said, and I saw your phone and thought I would pull up that recipe for you. But when I unlocked it, you had a text message from some _farmer,”_ he drew out the word, looking all-too-pleased, “saying he had a great big zucchini and couldn’t wait to see you tonight. He sent a picture, too.” Emil leaned his elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his hand. “So I think _you’re_ the one who should explain. Who _exactly_ is coming over for dinner?”

There _was_ a picture; Reynir grinned up from her phone screen, pointing to a green vegetable as long as his forearm. Tuuri folded her arms across her chest, aware that she was blushing. “A new friend—I only just met him, and he hardly knows anyone in the city yet. I thought it would be nice to invite him, that’s all. I don’t see why everyone’s making such a big deal about this! You’re as bad as Sigrun.”

“Mm-hmm.” Emil didn’t look convinced. “And does this friend have a name? Or a girlfriend?”

“Ugh!” Tuuri flung her hands in the air and turned away. “Ask him yourself when he gets here! I’m going to start the grill.” She grabbed the tongs and the platter of chicken skewers, then stormed out.

She was almost to the front door when someone pounded on the other side. _Oh no! He’s here early! I wanted to at least have the chicken ready—_

The door crashed open. “Heeeeey little pal! Look what I brought you!” Sigrun stood grinning in the doorway. She had a six-pack of beer in one hand; her other arm was wrapped around the shoulders of a bemused Reynir.

“Um. Hi?” he said. “I guess this is the right house.”

 

* * *

 

Reynir hadn’t known what to expect when Tuuri invited him over. On the outside, her house looked much like the adjoining row houses; weathered brick, small covered porch, and a tiny patch of yard filled with neglected grass. The inside was chaos. The loud woman who’d accosted him on the sidewalk hauled him through the door before he even had time to make sure he was in the right place. Then she launched into a story about how she’d spent her day—something about a concert or a street brawl, Reynir couldn’t tell which. Her voice brought two young men from some other part of the house, one dragging the other along by the wrist, and Tuuri interrupted to make introductions. Reynir repeated the names to himself, hoping he would remember. _Sigrun, Emil, Lalli. Sigrun is the loud one, Lalli is Tuuri’s cousin, and Emil is— staring at me._ The blond man kept looking at Reynir with an odd smile. Come to think of it, Sigrun seemed to be watching him with unusual interest, too. _Weird._

He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because Sigrun slung an arm around Emil and steered him toward an adjoining room. “Come on, buddy, I want to show you my new song. We can start on that while Tuuri does whatever she’s doing with food!”

Emil tried to shrug out of Sigrun’s grip. “Hey, no, what about _my_ new song? I already started going over it with Lalli!” Sigrun ignored his protests; the two of them disappeared into the next room.

Which left Reynir with Tuuri and her cousin. Lalli stared at Reynir for a minute—not smiling, not showing any facial expression at all—then shrugged. “I’m going downstairs,” he said, and did.

Tuuri offered a strained smile. “So…that’s the rest of the band. Sorry, they can be a little—“ she couldn’t seem to find a word for it.

Reynir shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Enthusiastic?” he suggested.

Tuuri grinned, a real smile this time. “Ha. That’s…one way of putting it. Anyway, welcome! Can I get you a drink or something? We have milk or water. Or beer, I guess, if you can get it away from Sigrun.” From the other room, he could hear voices raised in argument. The phrases “creative expression” and “badass sound explosions” stood out.

“No, that’s all right. Can I put these down somewhere though?” Reynir hefted the paper sack in his arms. “Vegetables get heavy after a while.”

Tuuri tried to reach for the bag and nearly stabbed him with the grill tongs. “Oh, sorry! You’re right, we should focus on dinner first. Come on, the kitchen is this way.”

Reynir set vegetables out on the counter while Tuuri rummaged for a cutting board and knife. “I brought zucchini like you asked, and since I wasn’t sure what else you were planning I threw in a little of everything. Peppers, tomatoes, kale, and a few other greens…”

Tuuri considered the offerings. “Well, we could put the peppers and zucchini on skewers and grill them with the chicken. The rest…maybe a salad? I think we still have some dressing.” She looked up, startled, when Reynir took the knife out of her hand. “What are you doing?”

The question took him by surprise. “Umm…I was going to start chopping zucchini and peppers? Unless you want me to do the chicken instead, but you’ll have to show me how to use your grill. Where are the skewers?”

Tuuri stared. “You…you’re going to help me cook?”

Reynir blinked. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?” _That’s…not a weird farm thing, is it? To be helpful?_

Tuuri shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I just…wasn’t expecting it. Thank you!” She squeezed him in a one-armed hug, carefully avoiding the knife. “That will really help a lot. I’ll go out and start the meat—bring those when they’re done, okay?”

_Well, weird farm thing or no, I guess she doesn’t mind._ The embrace left a fluttering in his stomach that had nothing to do with nerves. Reynir smiled and applied himself to the cutting board.

 

* * *

 

Dinner went better than Tuuri had expected. Sure, Sigrun and Emil spent most of the meal arguing, and Lalli kept sneaking his vegetables onto Emil’s plate, but overall it was nice. It wasn’t until the food was gone and they were about to start practice that things got…awkward.

“So, Freckles, I hear you like our music,” Sigrun said, picking her teeth with a discarded skewer.

Reynir grinned. “Oh, yes! I haven’t heard a lot of live music, I had no idea it could be so—“

“Hard core? Mind-blowing?” Sigrun guessed.

“Loud,” Reynir said. “But all of the things you said, too! You’re going to play more shows at the bar, right?”

“Sure, sure. And hey, since you’re our groupie now—“

“Our _what_?!” Emil interrupted.

Sigrun ignored him. “Since you’re our groupie, you should stay for practice! You want to hear our girl Tuuri’s drums up close and personal, right?”

Tuuri froze on her way to the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes. “Sigrun…” _What is she up to?_

Reynir leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Could I really? That would be _so cool!_ As long as it’s all right with everyone…?” He looked around the table. Tuuri couldn’t be sure, but it felt like his eyes lingered on her the longest.

Emil fluffed his hair. “Fine by me. I’m sure he’ll appreciate my musical genius.”

Lalli shrugged. “Okay?” He hopped down from his chair and left for the living room.

The rest of them turned to Tuuri. “What do you think, Short Stuff? Want your boy to stick around?” Sigrun asked, face plastered with a predatory grin. “It will give you two more… _quality time_ together.”

“Oh!” Tuuri could the blush creeping up. “Of course you can stay! If you’re sure you want to.” _And if you somehow failed to notice Sigrun’s not-so-subtle insinuation that we’re…something._

Either Reynir had missed it, or he was pretending he had. “Great! I can’t wait to hear you play!”

 

* * *

 

Band practice was…fascinating.

_“Watch the old world burn_

_We’ll cleanse the land of beasts_

_Fight the trolls and kill the burning trees—”_

A crash of keys brought the song to a halt. “Sigrun! Those aren’t the words we agreed on!” Emil lifted his fist from the keyboard and glared at the lead singer.

Sigrun shrugged and wiped sweat from her forehead. “Maybe not, but this is better. You can really _feel_ it now!”

Emil grimaced. “It _feels_ like getting hit over the head.”

“Exactly!”

“Ugh!” Emil buried his face in his hands. “I knew this was a bad idea! Why did I ever agree to collaborate on a song with you?”

Sigrun set her guitar down and stretched. “Because it needed some bite! If we did it your way, the audience would be sleeping in their seats.”

“At least they’d still be _in_ their seats,” Emil muttered. “ _Your_ way will send them running!”

Sigrun narrowed her eyes. “That’s it! We have to settle this the old fashioned way, little buddy.” She took off her studded wrist cuffs and bent down to unlace her steel-toed boots.

Emil groaned. “Do we _have_ to wrestle for it? Why can’t we just vote instead?” Even as he complained, he freed a hair tie from his wrist and reached up to pull his hair back.

“Because,” Sigrun said, with the air of someone who had explained this many times, “Fluffyhead refuses to take sides, and if we try to make Twig do it he hides in the basement. So I vote for me, you vote for you, and we wrassle to break the tie!” She grinned. “Ready, pretty boy?”

Emil’s eyes darted around the room. “Uh...what about Tuuri’s _—_ I mean, _our_ new groupie?”

Sigrun flicked a dismissive glance at where Reynir sat next to Tuuri’s drum kit. “Not in the band, doesn’t get a vote. Come on, let’s do this!” She launched herself at Emil, hitting him square in the chest. They went down in a flurry of elbows.

Reynir tore his eyes away from the spectacle to look at Tuuri. She leaned back from her drums, looking like she was watching grass grow instead of a fight in the middle of her living room. “Does...does this happen often?” he asked.

Tuuri sighed. “Yes. At least once per practice. I don’t know why they bother; Sigrun always wins.” She shook her head. “Are you thirsty? This could last a while, so we might as well take a break.”

He wasn’t thirsty, but there was something else Reynir needed. “Umm...no thanks. Is there...can you point me in the direction of the bathroom?”

Tuuri blinked. “Oh, of course! I should have given you a tour. Come on, I’ll show you.” She edged around the brawl and led the way up the stairs.

The bathroom door blocked out the noise from the living room; Reynir’s sigh was loud against the sudden quiet. He made eye contact with his reflection and held it, hoping his mirror image could give some clarity to his jumbled thoughts. All he saw was confusion. _How did I end up here?_

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tuuri or her friends. If anything, the opposite was true. _Why am I so comfortable here? I just met these people! Shouldn’t I feel awkward, or reluctant, or…something?_ He didn’t think it was only him, either. After all, half the band was tussling on the floor downstairs; not exactly polite behavior in front of a guest. And Reynir didn’t _feel_ like a guest. He felt at home.

_But it’s nothing like the home I left. How does that work?_ He wanted to tell himself it was for some mysterious reason, but it would be a lie. _It’s because of Tuuri._

Just thinking her name sent his head spinning. It shouldn’t be so complicated; she was kind, funny, and got excited about things like vegetables and bike chains. She could be a really good friend. But…she could also be more than a friend. Maybe. _How am I supposed to know?_

Reynir left off staring at the mirror and considered his phone instead. He knew what he _wanted_ to do; the number was in there, all he had to do was push a button. It would be so easy.

And he couldn’t let himself do it. _No, Reynir, you promised. The whole point of moving here was to figure out how to be independent. If you call Mom and Dad for advice the first time a pretty girl looks at you, how are you supposed to handle something really serious? Before you know it you’ll be on the next bus back to the farm._

He’d sworn he wouldn’t call for at least the first month. Letters were fine; they took long enough that it kept him from spilling his guts about everything that popped into his head. But he knew the minute he heard their voices he wouldn’t be able to stop talking. He had to do this on his own. _And that starts with coming out of the bathroom, I guess._

Tuuri was nowhere in sight when he emerged, but one of the doors down the hall stood open. Reynir paused in the doorway and looked in.

Rose-gold sunlight streamed through the window, laying blocks of warmth across the floor and furniture. The room was tidy, but the walls were crowded: art prints, travel posters, photographs of mountains and trees and exotic architecture. Paper airplanes hung from the ceiling by strings, swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. And in the center of it all, back flat on her bed with her legs hanging off the edge, was Tuuri.

“Do you want to see something?” she asked. She hadn’t looked up; her eyes were focused on the ceiling.

Reynir hesitated—he’d never been inside a girl’s bedroom. “Uh…sure. What is it?”

Tuuri didn’t say anything, just patted the bed beside her.  Reynir took a careful step forward, then another. One more step would put him close enough to sit on the bed, but he wasn’t sure—

“Come on, sit like this. It’s the best way to see it,” Tuuri said. She sat up then, stretched a hand out to him. Before he quite knew what was happening, Reynir was half-slouched on Tuuri’s bed, staring at her ceiling and holding her hand.

“Oh. Ooooh.” He saw it now. There was a world on the ceiling. Or a map, to be exact: a world map covered in tiny colored dots.

Tuuri’s voice crept into his ear. “That’s the dream, up there. Green dots for places I’ve been, yellow for places I want to go.”

“There are a lot of yellow,” Reynir observed. _She’s still holding my hand. Should I let go, or…?_

“I know,” Tuuri said with a sigh. “Hopefully someday they’ll all be green.”

“And then what?”

“Well, there are always more places to visit, right? I guess I’ll find more yellow stickers,” she said.

“Yeah.” Reynir didn’t trust himself to say anything more. He didn’t need to count to know how many green dots he’d collected; just one for this city, or two if you could find a map that included his farm. Such a small world, compared to Tuuri’s. _But getting bigger all the time._

 

* * *

 

_Moments like this,_ Tuuri thought, feeling the heat where Reynir’s hand met hers, _make the world seem less lonely._ It was tempting to stay here forever, dreaming about far-off places with someone who might—for once—understand. But the ruckus from downstairs was fading, and people would wonder what they were doing.

So instead she sat up, reluctantly releasing Reynir’s hand. “We should probably get downstairs. Sounds like Sigrun’s done convincing Emil.” She moved toward the door. Reynir followed, but paused by her desk.

“What happened there?” he asked.

Tuuri looked back. “Oh, that.” Reynir was pointing to the one framed photograph in the room. The frame had seen better days; the glass was cracked, and missing altogether in some places. “It broke when I moved in; I’ve never gotten around to fixing it.” She touched the picture with a gentle finger, resting on each of the three faces in turn.

“You look a lot different there. Who’s the taller one, another cousin?”

Tuuri shook her head. “My brother, Onni. He and Lalli are all I...well, we’re close. And yeah, my hair was a lot longer when this was taken. I got it all cut off the next day.” _And Onni was so upset._

Reynir gave her a lopsided grin. “Oh! I wasn’t talking about your hair. Not that your hair doesn’t look nice! In the picture, I mean. And now. Your hair is good, it’s cute, it’s _—_ um,” he shook his head. “That came out all wrong. I meant, you look more...confident, or something. In real life, not in the picture.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure that was true—she certainly didn’t _feel_ confident, stumbling through whatever was happening between her and this adorable boy—but she did feel different from the Tuuri in the photo. Older, at least, and steadier on her feet. Less easily flustered.

“TUUUUURIII!!! QUIT MAKING OUT WITH FRECKLES AND GET DOWN HERE!”

Sigrun’s shout made them both jump; Reynir’s face flooded with red and Tuuri could feel hers doing the same. Without a word they bolted for the stairs.

_Okay, so maybe I’m still working on the “less easily flustered” part._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long, sorry! I couldn't figure out a way to split it, so I didn't.  
> Also, the song they're practicing is called [_Ashes_](http://seilannstar.tumblr.com/post/136987337094/first-verse-and-chorus-of-another-troll-hunters) and was written by the amazing Seilann! (Well, the first two lines I included were. The last line was improvised by Sigrun when she forgot the real words.) Seilann has also written [another Troll Hunters song](http://seilannstar.tumblr.com/post/136285946909/so-i-got-carried-away-and-even-though-im) and you should check it out. :)
> 
> (One more thing - I don't know if other people use the word "wrasslin'" instead of "wrestling", but that was how my paternal grandmother used to say it. So now Sigrun says it too.)


	5. Yes and No (Not in That Order)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuuri is the recipient of a prank and a phone call. Reynir makes a plan and messes up. Not necessarily in that order.

Callused fingers brushed the hair from Tuuri’s forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. His skin smelled like soap and tomato plants.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Is that weird?” The whisper was so close that his lips tickled her ear.

“Nnooo...” Tuuri drew the word out; it was hard to form coherent thoughts so close to him. His lips were moving along her jaw now, slowly approaching her mouth. Tuuri opened her eyes on freckles and a flash of laughing green, then—

_“I GOT A POCKET GOT A POCKET FULL OF SUNSHINE, I GOT A LOVE AND I KNOW THAT’S ALL MINE, OH, OH WHOA—”_

Tuuri’s eyes flew open—for real, this time. There was no red-haired man, only bright sunlight on her bedroom ceiling and music pouring out of her phone. She closed her eyes again, groaning, but the dream wasn’t coming back. The music wasn’t stopping, either.

_“TAKE ME AWAAAAAAY—”_

“Ugh.” Tuuri reached for the phone. She meant to invest her answer with annoyance at being woken up, but in her sleep-addled state she blurted the first word that came to mind. “Reynir?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then,

“ _What?”_

_Damn. I should have known; no one else would call me this early on a Saturday._

Tuuri sighed. “Sorry, Onni, I’m still half-asleep. What’s going on?”

Her brother’s voice was heavy with concern. _“Did you say ‘reindeer’? Why would you answer the phone like that? Is everything all right?”_

“No, I didn’t say ‘reindeer’, I said...never mind, it’s not important. Everything’s _fine,_ Onni. Except that I’m awake and it’s only,” she squinted at the clock, “7:15. Onni, why are you calling me at 7:15 AM on a Saturday?”

_“What, I’m not allowed to call my sister?”_ He sounded hurt. _“I only wanted to make sure you were okay. I had a dream you were driving straight into a tornado, only the tornado was made of bees, and—”_

Tuuri sat up and rubbed her eyes, letting Onni ramble on. The therapist said the nightmares were normal after everything they’d been through; dreams were a way of bringing up unresolved issues. She knew Lalli had them too, but he dealt with them in his own way. It was just too bad that Onni’s way involved calling Tuuri at ungodly hours.

Onni was still talking. _“And then everything went up in flames, and I woke up. Are you sure you’re okay?”_

“For the last time, I’m _fine._ Nothing’s on fire, we don’t even let Emil touch the appliances anymore. If I see a tornado made of bees, I promise I’ll drive around it, all right?”

Onni heaved a long sigh. _“Okay. Hey, while I have you on the phone…”_

Tuuri grimaced. _Oh no. Here it comes._

_“...what are you and Lalli up to tonight? I was thinking we could see a movie, maybe go out to that drive-in you like…”_

Tuuri shook her head, even knowing he couldn’t see it. “That drive-in is way outside of the city, it would take ages to get back! I don’t mind staying out late, but...”

_“It’s not that far from here. You could always stay with me tonight, then—”_

“NO!” Tuuri bit her lip to keep from saying anything she’d regret. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Onni, we’ve been over this. I don’t live there anymore, and it doesn’t make sense for me to drive back and forth to the suburbs all the time. Anyway, we’re playing a show tonight. It’ll be too late for a movie by the time that’s over.”

Wounded silence from the other end of the line. Tuuri waited.

Eventually, Onni gave in. _“Sure. That...makes sense. We’re still on for tomorrow though, right?”_

Tuuri exhaled, relieved. “Of course, we wouldn’t miss Sunday dinner for anything! I’ll see you then.” She managed to end the call before Onni could think up another reason to keep her on the line. She slumped back onto her pillow and stared at the map above her. _Oh, Onni. I love you, but…I can’t always do what you want. I have dreams too, you know._

And it was a pity she’d had to wake up, because the dream she’d just been having…well. _Good thing it wasn’t Reynir on the phone. That would have been so embarrassing!_ Still, it wasn’t as though she could control what she dreamed about. It wasn’t _her_ fault Reynir had such pretty eyes, adorable freckles, and that _hair_ —

_Bzzzzzzzz_

“Eeep!” Tuuri nearly dropped her phone as Reynir’s face appeared on the screen. It was a text message:

_Up early picking veggies. Want me to bring some tonight?_

Attached was another photo: Reynir holding an armload of squash, sunrise blazing through his hair. Tuuri felt a cheesy grin—an expression that was becoming a habit, where Reynir was concerned—spreading across her face. _Forget the dream, he’s even cuter in real life._

She texted back:

_Yes please! Can’t wait to see you._

Still smiling, Tuuri rolled out of bed. Maybe some things _were_ worth waking up early for.

* * *

 

The Mad Moose was filled to the rafters. All the regulars were there, glowering into their cups and sending surly glances at the interlopers. The crowd of fresh blood chattered on, oblivious, and ordered more drinks.

Reynir pushed a pair of beers into what were _hopefully_ the right hands and started on a mixed drink he couldn’t pronounce. “Where did they all come from?” he asked Mikkel.

Mikkel shrugged and straightened his apron. “Who knows? Could be the university’s summer session let out. Could be someone reviewed us on their blog. As long as they pay, they stay.”

Reynir couldn’t argue with that logic, but it was a relief when the music started and most of the crowd turned their attention to the stage. He finally had a chance to breathe—and see how the band was coping with their new audience.

Sigrun was in her element. She moved constantly, feet stamping and guitar swinging. She roared at the crowd, and the crowd roared back. Emil followed her lead, sweat standing out on his forehead as his fingers flew across the keys. Their voices blended, all traces of “artistic differences” gone. Off to the side, Lalli played bass with his eyes closed. It was hard to tell if that was because of the music or the crowd; Reynir didn’t know him well enough to say. And behind them all, Tuuri and her drums were a force of nature. The sticks blurred in her hands; her face glowed from more than the stage lights. Watching her, caught up in her rhythm, Reynir forgot for a moment who—and where—he was.

But only for a moment. “Hey! Can I get some service over here?”

Reynir tore his eyes away from Tuuri and turned his attention to the customer. _Back to work, Reynir. You can talk to her during the break._

* * *

_“Come on now_  
_I’m the most best_  
_Better get that_  
_Through your head_  
_Before I put_  
_Your doubt to bed_  
_With a fist in your teeth!”_

Tuuri crashed through the last line of the song, struck the final beat exactly where it should be. The room was silent for a heartbeat—then erupted in cheers. She set her drumsticks down slowly. _Well that’s never happened before. Either these people have had a_ lot _to drink, or…_

“WE ROCK!!! Do you hear that?! They love us!” Sigrun waved her guitar in the air. Emil ducked, but he was grinning too. For once, the two of them didn’t have anything to argue about. Tuuri joined the round of back-slapping, but soon enough her attention strayed to the bar. It was surrounded by a throng of customers, of course. Reynir stood at the end closer to the stage, pouring drinks for a group of girls. One of them leaned forward to ask Reynir a question, then turned to her friends to giggle over his response. Tuuri narrowed her eyes.

“I’m going to…get something to drink,” she announced.

Sigrun waved her off. “Sure, drinks all around! Let’s celebrate!”

Tuuri pushed through the crowd, wishing she were just a _little_ bit taller. “Excuse me…sorry, coming through…watch out…right behind you, sorry…” It took forever to get to the bar, and when she arrived the same girls were still hovering around Reynir. They were all taller than she was, and there was no way around them. _Fine. Time to put these elbows to use._

“Oh, sorry! Did your drink spill? Don’t worry, that spot should come right out.” Tuuri inserted herself between the two girls in the middle, ignoring their startled protests. She was sure at least three of them were shooting dirty looks her way, but it didn’t matter. Reynir had spotted her.

“Tuuri! You were amazing up there!” He reached to pour her a glass of water without being asked.

She accepted the glass with a smile. “Thanks, Sunshine. How’s your night going?” _Sunshine? Where did that come from? Oh well, just roll with it._

Reynir grinned. “Busy! Apparently some internet list mentioned us: ‘Ten Bars to Visit Before They Get Cool’. It’s a lot to live up to. I guess I must be doing something right, though, because people keep tipping me. Oh! I almost forgot, I have a box for you. Do you want it now? Mikkel might let me go get it…”

More poisonous glances from the nearby girls, and Tuuri felt a twinge of guilt. _He probably won’t get such good tips after this._ “Maybe later? I don’t know if I can get it through the crowd right now. Can I come back for it when we’re done playing?”

“Of course! Hopefully by then things will have calmed down…maybe I can carry it to the car for you.”

She didn’t need him to do that, but the offer was sweet. “That would be nice. Look, I should probably get back to the stage. See you in a bit!” She didn’t _want_ to go back to the stage, but it wasn’t fair for her to take up his time when he was so busy. Tuuri made to step away from the bar—

“Hey, Tuuri…”

She stopped, looked up to meet his eyes. He wore a softer smile, one that made her feel like the only person in the room.

“I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I had a really great time the other night. Thanks again.”

Tuuri’s face heated. He _had_ said it, both in person as he was leaving her house and via text message the next day. But it was different to hear him say it here, where other people—like the girls who almost certainly hated her now—could hear. More significant, somehow.

But she didn’t know how to put that into words, so all she said was, “I had a nice time too, Reynir. We should do it again.”

“I’d like that.”

She held his eyes for a long moment, then let the crowd pull her away.

Back at the stage, Sigrun and Emil were finishing their own drinks and arguing amicably about beer preferences. Sigrun downed the last of hers and winked at Tuuri. “Marking your territory, short stuff? Freckles sure is popular with the ladies. ”

“What? No, I wasn’t—” _Okay, maybe I was._

Emil grinned over the rim of his glass. “I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s staring at you.”

Tuuri almost turned to look, but caught herself just in time. “He’s not! Uh...is he?”

“Maybe not _all_ the time, but he looks up here between every customer,” Emil said. “It’s kinda cute, actually. Like a puppy.”

“How do you know he’s not staring at _you?_ ” Tuuri snapped. Usually she was the one teasing Emil; getting teased _by_ him was much less fun.

Emil didn’t seem bothered by her comment. He fluffed his hair and sipped his beer. “Do you think so? Maybe I should go ask him. If he thinks I’m cute, do you think he’ll give me a free drink?”

“Don’t you dare!” Tuuri exclaimed.

Sigrun grinned. “Oh, _interesting._ Is that jealousy I hear? I think we should test this, Emil. Go ask him who he thinks is the prettiest!” She took Emil’s half-empty glass away. “Five bucks says you can’t get a free drink, though.”

“You’re on!” he said. Before Tuuri could stop him, he set off for the bar.

“Ugh! Why would he—I can’t look,” Tuuri said. But she couldn’t help herself. She watched as Emil wound his way through the crowd—the sea of people parted for him, possibly awed by his shiny hair—and sidled up to Reynir’s end of the bar. He managed to join the group of girls without spilling anything, and whatever he said made them giggle. He leaned on the bar, looking the very picture of casual, and said something to Reynir.

“Here we go,” Sigrun said. “He’s chatting, he’s gesturing at us—is he _really_ asking which of you is prettier? That was a joke! And now...Freckles is reaching for something...Damn!”

Reynir handed Emil a glass filled with something that wasn’t water, smiled, and went on to the next customer.

“What happened? What did you say?” Tuuri demanded as soon as Emil returned.

“Not until Sigrun pays up!”

Sigrun, grumbling, slapped a bill in his hand. Emil pocketed it with a grin. “So I went over to the bar, and started really casual—you know, asked about his job, has he met any cool people—”

Tuuri gritted her teeth. “Emil…”

“...and then I asked how he liked the music, and he said it was great, and that I was doing a good job on the keyboard—”

_Uh-oh. He told me I played well too! Maybe he_ does _like Emil._

Emil was still spinning his story. “So I said, it sure gets hot up there on the stage, and he asked if I needed a drink—”

_Oh no. Dammit, why do all the cute guys like Emil instead of me?_

“And then _I_ said, no, I’m fine, but _Tuuri_ could use one.”

_Wait. What?_

“WHAT?”

Emil grinned triumphantly and handed Tuuri the glass. “Ginger ale on the rocks. Free of charge.”

Tuuri looked over at the bar. Reynir, between customers, met her eyes across the room. He grinned and waved.

Sigrun glared at Emil. “You cheated!”

Emil shook his head. “No I didn’t! Our bet was that I would get a free drink. You didn’t say I had to get a free drink for _me.”_

Tuuri took a deep breath. “So...you didn’t actually ask him anything about...uh...thinking anyone was cute?”

“Of course not!” Emil huffed. “Trust me, I know when I’m being admired and when I’m not. I wasn’t testing _his_ interest.” He exchanged evil grins with Sigrun. “I was testing _yours._ Congratulations! You have a crush on the farmer.”

Tuuri gaped at him. “I...what? You...YOU—”

“Oookay, time for the next set!” Sigrun stepped between them. “Pretty boy, go find Twig and get him on the stage. Fluffy head, drink your ginger ale. It cost me five dollars, so you’d better enjoy it.”

* * *

 

The Mad Moose was finally empty, and Reynir couldn’t ever remember being so tired. He wiped a rag across the already-spotless bar, vaguely wondering how long it would be before the next bus came. Then his eyes came to rest on a box in the corner.

“Oh no!” The vegetables for Tuuri--he’d forgotten about them! It had been so busy, and he hadn’t had time to take a break—

“What is it?” Mikkel hefted a chair onto a table and reached for the broom.

“It’s...oh, it’s not important, I just did something stupid. I was supposed to give Tuuri this box of vegetables, but I forgot. She’s probably home by now.” Reynir sagged against the bar. He’d had it all thought out. He was going to offer to carry the box for her, then find a way to ask, oh-so-casually, if she had any plans tomorrow. And if she didn’t...maybe she would like to have plans? With him? It was no good now, of course. He’d messed up.

Mikkel grunted. “Vegetables, eh?” He moved another chair, then added, “You can probably still catch her.”

Reynir looked up. “What? But they stopped playing ages ago! It can’t take that long to load their equipment, right?”

Mikkel raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen the Troll Hunters do _anything_ quickly? Trust me, they’re still out there. Go on, I can finish up.”

“Really?” Reynir sprang up. “Thank you so much! I promise I’ll work extra hard and not break so many glasses next time—”

“Get out of here,” Mikkel waved him away. “And don’t forget your box!”

Reynir snatched the vegetables up and sprinted for the door. Mikkel shook his head and went back to sweeping. “Kids.”

By some miracle, Mikkel was right; the band was still outside, clustered around a battered grey cargo van. Emil and Sigrun were, of course, arguing.

“See, I _told_ you we should put the amps in first, _then_ the drums and _then_ the keyboard. We could have saved so much time if—” Emil said.

“If you just _loaded_ things instead of _whining_ about it,” Sigrun countered. She slammed the rear door.

“Look, it’s done now, why don’t we just—Reynir!” Tuuri beamed at him, and Reynir’s heartbeat sped up.

“Hey! I, uh…you forgot this,” he stammered. _Smooth. How am I supposed to ask her out if I can’t even form a sentence?_

“Oh, the vegetables! I forgot all about them, thank you! It’s lucky you came out when you did, we were just getting ready to go.” She turned and foisted the box on Emil. “Here, find a place for this. Sigrun, do you need a ride home?”

Sigrun waved her off. “Nah, I have a cab coming. But not yet—the night is young! Catch ya later, rock stars.” She set off down the street, whistling one of her guitar riffs.

Tuuri turned her attention to Reynir. “What about you? Did you bike here?”

“No…I, uh, haven’t gotten any lights for it yet,” he admitted. “I guess it’s bad to ride at night without them. I’ll catch a bus.”

Tuuri put a hand over her mouth. “Oh! I should have asked you about that when we worked on your bike. I’m sorry! Where do you live? We can give you a ride.”

_That would be really nice. Maybe I’d get a chance to talk to her alone…no, that’s selfish._ “It’s okay, really! I’m sure a bus will be along, I don’t want to put you out of your way…”

Surprisingly, it was Emil who objected. “The buses aren’t reliable at this time of night, you might never catch one. Get in.” He opened the passenger door and gestured impatiently. “Come on, it’s late.”

Well, as long as Tuuri’s roommates didn’t mind. “If you’re sure…okay! Thanks!” He ducked through the door.

It was a good thing the van had a bench seat in front, because the back was packed with instruments, equipment, and—somewhere—the box of vegetables. It wouldn’t have been possible to fit a person back there, so all four of them squeezed in the front. Reynir was sandwiched between Emil and Tuuri, trying to keep his leg out of her way as she shifted gears. Despite his best efforts, the ride was full of accidental touches. He couldn’t help noticing that if he raised his arm he could wrap it around Tuuri’s shoulders without even trying. He wished he was brave enough to do that.

“We should probably stop and unload the instruments before you take Reynir home,” Emil said, once they were underway. “Our house is on the way to his, and I think Lalli wants to get back to work.”

Lalli stared out the window, ignoring all of them. Reynir had no idea how Emil could tell what Lalli wanted, but he wasn’t going to question it. “That’s fine with me, I can help you unload.”

It took far less time to stow the instruments in the house than it had taken to fit them in the van—which Tuuri affectionately referred to as “the tank”—so a short while later Reynir and Tuuri had the front seat all to themselves. _Wow. It’s spacious with only two people. Kind of…lonely._ It felt weird to sit by the window. It would probably be weirder to sit all the way next to Tuuri though, even if he’d liked the sensation of her leg pressing against his. He settled for somewhere in the middle; close enough to put his arm around her if he was brave enough, too far away to do it by accident.

They didn’t say much on the way home. It was a comfortable silence, respite from the long hours of pulse-pounding music and noisy customers. Reynir would have liked it to go on forever, but it was over all too soon.

“This is me,” he said.

Tuuri put the van in park and leaned toward him to stare out the window. “Really? It’s so _big!_ ”

Reynir chuckled. “Oh, no, not the big one. A bunch of the other interns share that; I’m in the carriage house out back. It’s tiny, but it works.”

“Oh.” Rather than settling back into her seat, Tuuri shifted closer and rested her head next to his shoulder. _It would be so easy to put an arm around her now. Or…_

They were close enough to kiss. All it would take was for one of them to move, just a little. If he just—

_Bzzzzzzz_

Tuuri jerked upright. “Sorry! My phone.”

Reynir’s heart beat double time. “Ah, right! Well, we’re here, so I should go. I don’t want to keep you. Thanks again for driving me!” He reached for the door.

_No. What are you waiting for? Just do it!_

“Actually…wait. I was wondering,” he swallowed hard, forced himself to meet her eyes, “if you had any plans tomorrow?”

Tuuri wore her curiosity plainly on her face. “Not until dinnertime. Why?”

“Well…if you’re not busy, would you maybe…want to do something? Together? We could have breakfast, or…” Not breakfast, that was too early for how late it was now, “…brunch?” He held his breath, waiting for her reply.

“Oh!” It was too dark to tell for sure, but he thought she was blushing. “Sure! That sounds…wonderful. Should I meet you somewhere, or…?”

_She said yes. She said YES. What do I do now?_

Reynir’s mouth took over while his brain shut down. “Great! Why don’t you meet me here? Around eleven, maybe?”

“Eleven sounds perfect,” she said.

“Yeah. Perfect.”

Reynir couldn’t remember getting out of the van or walking to the house. _She said yes. She actually said yes! We’re going on a date._

_Please, don’t let me mess this up._

* * *

 

 

**Transcript from Tuuri’s phone:**

_Conversation between Onni Hotakainen and Tuuri Hotakainen (Sunday, 2:35 AM)_

ONNI: Did you get home yet??

ONNI: Tuuri??

ONNI: Tuuri why aren’t you answering??

ONNI: Tuuri I don’t want to call when you might be driving but if you aren’t dead in a ditch I really need to know!!

ONNI: Oh no you’re dead in a ditch aren’t you??

TUURI: No.

ONNI: OH THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE WHY WEREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME?????

TUURI: I was DRIVING.

TUURI: And as you’re always saying that’s not SAFE.

ONNI: I know but I thought you were DEAD!!

TUURI: Well I’m not. But I am tired, I just got home. Why are you still awake?

ONNI: I was worried about you!!

ONNI: Being out late at that bar…people drinking…

ONNI: What if something happened??

TUURI: You know I would never drink and drive, right?

TUURI: Because if you’re even THINKING that I would…

ONNI: No of course not!!

ONNI: But other people do!!

TUURI: …yeah.

TUURI: But it’s okay. I got home safe, everything is fine.

TUURI: I’ll tell you all about my night when I see you tomorrow, okay?

TUURI: Try to get some sleep.

ONNI: Okay. You know I love you, right??

TUURI: Of course. I love you too.

TUURI: Now PLEASE stop texting me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look who showed up! I'd planned for Onni to make an appearance in this chapter, but the recent comic pages changed my view of him from "Overprotective older brother, slightly obnoxious" to "Poor sad Onni! So worried, so in need of a hug." Hopefully it shows.
> 
> In case anyone isn't familiar with it, Tuuri's ringtone is [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gte3BoXKwP0) And the song that the band sings is _[Most Best](http://seilannstar.tumblr.com/post/136285946909/so-i-got-carried-away-and-even-though-im)_ , lyrics courtesy of [Seilann](http://seilannstar.tumblr.com/). (You should really go listen to it if you haven't yet).


	6. Picnics, Purritos, Precipitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reynir and Tuuri go on a date. _Almost_ everything goes right.

**_Transcripts from the crumpled-up papers in Reynir’s recycle bin_ **

 

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_How are you? I know it hasn’t been long since I wrote, but it feels like a lot has happened. Fast-paced city life, you know?_

_Both the internship and the bartender job are going well. I’ve been making friends, too—I know, you’re going to say you aren’t surprised, but can I help it if the world is full of interesting people? The other farm interns are wonderful, of course. One of them told me about a shop where I could get help fixing Bjarni’s bike, and guess what? The drummer girl I met works there! Her name is Tuuri, and she invited me over to her house for dinner. I met the rest of the band and watched them practice. They all seem pretty cool, ~~but Tuuri is the coolest. I mean, she can play drums AND fix bikes AND she’s really pretty—~~_

_\---_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_How are you? I am great, things are going well. The city is full of interesting people and new experiences. Like, for instance, I got to sit in on a real live band practice! My friend Tuuri (you remember the drummer I mentioned?) invited me over, and I got to see them in action. Band practice is much more demanding than I would have thought._

_~~Speaking of new experiences, I got to see inside a girl’s bedroom (not a sister’s) for the first time. Tuuri’s bedroom, actually. We looked at her ceiling and she held my hand, it was nice—~~ _ ~~~~

_\---_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_How are you? I am fine. Except I met this girl, and I think she’s kind of amazing, but I don’t know what I’m doing…who am I kidding, there is no way I’m sending this letter._

_\---_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I met this girl named Tuuri and I think I am going to ask her on a date. Does it seem like I’m moving too fast? I guess maybe it is, but I really like her and I think she likes me. Only, the problem is I don’t know how to ask her and what if she says no? It would mess everything up! I don’t know what to do…_

_\---_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I did it. I actually asked Tuuri on a date. AND SHE SAID YES!_

_So…now I just have to…not mess it up._

_Oh no. What if I mess up?_

_\---_

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I am hopeless and shouldn’t be allowed to talk to girls. Or write letters._

 

* * *

 

Despite her late night, Tuuri woke before her alarm on Sunday morning. A snatch of melody floated in her head, harmonizing with the sun and the joy that bubbled up when she replayed the events of yesterday. _Reynir asked me out._

The song stayed with her even after she got out of bed. She hummed it while brushing her teeth; she tried out words in the shower. Nothing fit, but she was used to that. There was a reason she let Sigrun and Emil write all the songs. Tuuri had pieces of songs inside her, but she never could make words and tunes fit together. That didn’t stop her from trying, though.

 _“Sunshine, blue skies, going on a date_  
_better pick some clothes or I’ll be late…”_

Tuuri shook her head and went back to ransacking her closet. What did people wear to brunch? Normally she would go to Emil for advice about this kind of thing—he had a way of turning a pile of thrift store finds into an outfit that looked both effortless and chic—but she was still annoyed at him. _And anyway, he and Sigrun are already too involved in my love life. They don’t need to know I’m having brunch with Reynir. I can figure this out by myself._

Ten minutes later she arrived downstairs wearing her favorite blue sundress over a pair of bike shorts. It was _probably_ the kind of thing people wore on first dates, right? If this even was a first date. Technically they’d already had lunch _and_ dinner together, but she wasn’t sure if those counted. _And if they do, then I wore a grease-stained t-shirt on our first date, so none of this matters. I’m overthinking it._

She hadn’t expected to see either of her housemates at this time of day, but to her surprise her cousin was perched at the dining room table with a bowl of cereal.

“Oh! Good morning, Lalli.”

He nodded at her and kept chewing, his idea of a morning greeting.

Tuuri dug through the pile of shoes by the door. _Hmm. Grey, or yellow? The grey ones go with everything, but I really like the yellow ones…if only I could get a second opinion._ She glanced up at Lalli. _Well, it’s worth a shot._ “Hey, Lalli...which do you think I should wear?” She held up one of each pair of shoes.

“Definitely the yellow ones,” said Emil.

“Augh!” Tuuri whirled around. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Emil leaned on the kitchen doorframe, grinning. “I’ve been here the whole time. Up and about awfully early, aren’t you? Special occasion?” He nodded significantly at the dress.

Tuuri glared. “I could say the same for you. I have some...things...to do. And I just felt like wearing a dress, okay? Am I allowed to do that?”

Emil held up his hands, placating. “Hey, no need to be so hostile! I was just curious. I got called into work, so tragically my Sunday will be spent slaving away.” He sat down across from Lalli with his own cereal. “Anyway, the yellow shoes will look good with that dress. Not that you have any particular _reason_ to look nice today.”

Tuuri ignored his thinly veiled question and reached for the other yellow shoe. Not because of anything Emil said, of course...she just liked the yellow ones. That was all.

“Right. Well, I’m off to do...those things. I’ll see you later! Have fun at work!” Tuuri grabbed her bike helmet and opened the door.

“Mmmhmm. Have fun with your ‘things’!” Emil called after her.

* * *

 

Tuuri arrived at Reynir’s address a few minutes before eleven. She wheeled her bike past the imposing house where he’d said the other interns lived and eventually came upon a tiny brick building nestled in the backyard. There were flowering plants all along the front, and curtains in the windows. _Wow. Even his_ house _is adorable._

At her knock, the door swung open in a wave of cinnamon-scented air. “Tuuri!” Reynir greeted her with a grin. “Come in! I’m almost ready, just waiting for the rolls to cool. You can meet my roommate while we wait!”

Tuuri allowed him to usher her into a narrow kitchen. The counter was cluttered; baking spices and flour warred for space with measuring cups and wooden spoons. A pan of cinnamon rolls steamed on the stove. She could see what looked like a living room through the doorway: battered couch, potted plants on the windowsill.  It was pretty much how she’d expected his house to look. Except—

“Roommate?” she asked. _I thought he said he had this place to himself._

Reynir poked one of the cinnamon rolls and pulled his finger back hastily. “Ouch! Yeah, my roommate. She’s probably in the bedroom; let me see if she’ll come out.” He ducked past Tuuri and walked through the door at the other end of the living room. She could hear him murmuring something, voice soft with affection.

 _He has a_ female _roommate? And he talks to her like_ that? _What is_ — _oh._

The jealous train of thought broke off abruptly as Reynir emerged from the bedroom. “Here she is! She was being shy, but I convinced her. Tuuri, this is Purrito.”

Blue eyes blinked away sleep; tiny jaws opened in a yawn. Reynir cupped the ball of russet-and-white fur in his hands and held her out to Tuuri.

“Oh, she’s precious!” Tuuri crooned. She took the kitten from Reynir and cradled it in the crook of her arm. Purrito yawned again and buried her face in Tuuri’s elbow.

Reynir stroked a finger along the kitten’s ear, brushing against Tuuri’s arm as he did so. “She was born a little while before I moved here. Normally the cats at home just live in the barn, but I thought...well, maybe if one of them came with me the city wouldn’t seem as lonely.”

Tuuri looked up from the cat and was struck by Reynir’s unguarded expression: wistful, maybe a little sad, but bright around the edges. He met her eyes, and the brightness spread to fill his face.

“Anyway, that’s how I ended up living in the carriage house. One of the other interns is allergic, so Purrito and I get this place all to ourselves.”

Tuuri grinned. “Ah. So we won’t have to fend off hungry interns for those cinnamon rolls?”

Reynir laughed. “Ha! No. Speaking of which, they should be cool enough to pack now. Umm…” he hesitated by the stove, “do you like picnics?”

_An excuse to sit outside and stare at your pretty face while I eat? Yes, please._

“I love picnics! Sorry, darling,” she added, speaking to the cat, “I guess that means I have to let go of you.”

* * *

 

They left the kitten sleeping on the couch and set off. Reynir carried a basket of food in one hand and a thermos in the other, so when he stumbled on the uneven sidewalk he nearly fell flat on his face.

“Careful!” Tuuri said, catching his elbow to steady him.

“Haha, thanks...I guess I should pay more attention to where I’m going.” He’d been looking over at Tuuri, watching the way the wind ruffled her hair and wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

“So...where are we going for this picnic?” Tuuri asked, eyes bright with curiosity. Her hand was still on his arm.

Reynir smiled and forced himself to look at the path instead of at her. _I can stare into her eyes as much as I want once we get where we’re going._ “You’ll see. It’s not far.” He _could_ tell her, but he had a feeling she liked surprises.

“Ooh, mysterious!” Tuuri chuckled and removed her hand, swinging her arms like an excited child. Her hand bumped against Reynir’s, and he suddenly wished he’d let her carry the thermos. _If we each had one hand free…_

But they didn’t, and thinking too much about holding Tuuri’s hand sent a warm fluttery feeling coursing through his chest. He’d been having those feelings all day, actually. Ever since Tuuri showed up at his door, his heart seemed to beat faster. And when her eyes crinkled at the corners, or she brushed a hand through her hair, or she smiled like she knew exactly what he was thinking...Reynir gave himself a mental shake. If he wasn’t careful, he’d trip again and end up kissing the concrete.

Thankfully, they made it to their destination without further mishap. Reynir set the basket on the ground and reached over to unlatch the gate. “Here we are.” He swung the gate open and waved Tuuri through. “Welcome to Silent World Organic Farm!”

Tuuri stared with wide eyes as they wound their way past clusters of summer squash and tomatoes, bean poles and fragrant herb beds. Everywhere they turned there was a riot of leafy green; the air was full of the scent of growing things. “Wow! This is amazing,” she breathed, “I had no idea this was here.”

Reynir grinned. “They only started growing here a few years ago. Before that it was a cluster of abandoned lots. See that empty patch at the top of the hill?” He gestured with the thermos. “That’s where we’re going. You can see the whole farm from up there.”

They crested the hill and spread a blanket on the ground. Reynir settled himself and started unpacking the basket, watching Tuuri out of the corner of his eye. She fussed with her skirt, smoothing wrinkles only she could see. Then she turned her attention to the food.

“Wow, you made so much! How did you have time for all of this?”

Reynir blushed. The real answer—that he hadn’t been able to sleep, thinking about her—made him sound crazy. He settled for: “Oh, I just got a little carried away. Strawberry?”

Tuuri accepted the delicate red fruit, popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Did you grow this?”

“Not the strawberries; I wasn't here then. But everything else! The spinach in the quiche, and the peppers…”

They ate their way through the contents of the basket, letting conversation fill the spaces between bites. Tuuri asked where he learned to cook, so Reynir told her all about his family and their holiday cook-offs. He found out that Tuuri spoke three languages and was working on a fourth. “If I travel somewhere, I should be able to communicate at least a _little_ ,” she said. “It’s only polite.”

When they couldn’t eat any more, they wandered around the farm. Reynir gave a running commentary of the different garden beds, but most of his attention was on Tuuri. She seemed fascinated; every new plant was cause for excitement. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Reynir could hardly keep his mind on what he was saying. Here he was babbling on about crop rotation, when she deserved poetry. _Too bad I’m no poet._

Instead of embarrassing them both with an attempt at flowery words, he busied his hands with actual wildflowers. He plucked buttercups, phlox, and daisies as they walked, and it didn’t take long to string them together. He held out the finished crown. “Here.”

Tuuri blushed. “Baked goods _and_ flowers? You’re spoiling me!” She smiled as she said it though, and dipped her head so he could place the circlet on her hair. A few strands tickled his fingers as he settled the flowers in place—her hair _was_ soft.

Tuuri touched the delicate weave of blossoms, still smiling. “Thanks. Now it’s your turn, Farm Boy.” She uprooted a handful of flowers and tugged on the end of his braid. “No fancy crowns for me, but I think we can still fit these in somewhere.” She teased the strands apart and threaded petals in; soon his braid was dotted with blossoms. “There we go,” she said, tucking the last daisy over his ear. Her hand lingered on his cheek. “So...what now?” she asked. Her face was so close he could see a thousand shades of blue in her eyes; if he leaned down, he could kiss her. And he _wanted_ to. _Be brave, Reynir. All you have to do is take the plunge._ He swallowed, took a deep breath, and started to lean into Tuuri’s hand—

A drop of water struck his nose. “Wha?” Reynir blinked, glanced up, and caught another raindrop square in the eye. “Ow! Aww, hell.” As though the first drop had been a signal, suddenly the clouds he hadn’t seen forming let loose a deluge of fat raindrops. “Come on! Back to the house!” he shouted. He caught Tuuri’s hand in his—it felt like the most natural thing in the world—and together they fled the gardens pursued by the storm.

* * *

 

Tuuri’s hand was clammy, but there was no way she was letting go of her grip on Reynir. He’d taken her by surprise, pulling her along to try to outrun the rain, and she was still trying to figure out what had happened before the downpour. _I swear he was going to kiss me. Stupid rain, ruining everything!_ She shook water from her hair, which did no good at all. _Still wet, because it’s still raining. I wonder how long until we’re back at...wait. Where are we?_

They weren’t on Reynir’s street. In fact, if Tuuri had her bearings straight, they had passed his street some time ago. In their headlong flight, neither had noticed.

“Reynir, wait! Stop for a second.”

He slowed his pace. “What is it?”

Tuuri gestured with her free hand. “Uh...I don’t think this is where we meant to go. Is it?”

Reynir halted and stared around. “Oh. No, I didn’t mean to come this far. I’m sorry! We can turn around and head for my house. I’m afraid it’s too late to keep from getting wet, though.”

Tuuri shrugged and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’ve been rained on before.” She looked around, trying to figure out the best way back. They were on a street lined with little shops, bright awnings subdued by the rain. Something about it felt familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “You know, we could find somewhere to wait until the rain stops.”

Reynir brightened. “Yes! Actually, there’s a place that I’ve been meaning to try. Come on, it’s this way.” Still holding her hand, he set off down the street.

They stopped under a pink awning, in front of a glass door with a decal of an ice cream cone haloed by flames. “I’ve heard this place the best in town,” Reynir said, “have you been here?”

Tuuri had; in fact, she now knew exactly where they were. _Crap. Of all the ice cream parlors in town, he had to choose this one._ She kept her smile in place, though—it wasn’t Reynir’s fault the rain had brought them here. “Sure, a few times. It’s pretty good.” _Not that I have to come here often, since we have a half-dozen cartons of this in our freezer at all times. Oh well. So much for keeping this date a secret._ She let Reynir hold the door for her and entered.

The door announced them with a cheerful jingle. The scent of cream and sugar enfolded them, and the employee behind the counter looked up from his phone. “Welcome to the Creamatorium, what can I get for—oh! Heeeeey, Tuuri!”

Tuuri gritted her teeth; keeping the smile in place had gotten a lot harder. “Hello, Emil.”

Reynir gave a much more enthusiastic greeting. “Emil! Tuuri didn’t tell me you worked here! This is so exciting!” He bounced up to the counter, pulling Tuuri along with him. “This must be the best job! You get to have ice cream every day. And you’d meet so many people!”

Emil leaned on the counter with an indulgent smile. “Sure, sure. I see _all kinds_ of interesting things, working here. Hey, Reynir, you should make sure to look at all the flavors before you decide on one. We have quite a selection.” He waved a hand down the long ice cream case. “Let me know if you want to sample any of them.”

Reynir let Tuuri’s hand drop. “Okay!” He wandered down the row, peering through the glass at the flavor selection.

When Reynir was out of earshot, Emil leaned forward and grinned at Tuuri. “So, this was the ‘important thing’ you had to do? I _knew_ there was a reason you were wearing a dress!” He rested his chin on his hands. “Tell me everything! Is this a _real_ date? Or did you two just _happen_ to run into each other and decide to go for a stroll in the rain?”

Tuuri glared. “I told you this morning, I just felt like wearing a dress!”

Emil smirked. “Ha! You’re avoiding the question, so it must be a date! And...are those flowers? Oh my gosh, he made you a flower crown!” He clapped his hands over his mouth, but couldn’t conceal the smile spreading across his face.

“Emil…” Tuuri groaned.

Her roommate wouldn’t be stopped. “So _you_ wore a dress, and _he_ got you flowers, and I noticed some hand-holding going on. Is there going to be kissing later? Or...no, did you two _already…?”_

Face burning, Tuuri glanced down the row to make sure Reynir wasn’t looking. Satisfied that he wasn’t, she lunged forward and grabbed the front of Emil’s pink apron. “Listen,” she hissed, forcing him to look into her eyes, “this _is_ a date, all right? And if you ruin it, you have toilet cleaning duty for the next six months! Got it?”

Emil swallowed hard, but his good mood hadn’t entirely left him. “Ha! Okay, fine. But if I _don’t_ ruin it, you have to let me tell Sigrun about it.”

Tuuri released him. “What? Why?!”

Emil tugged the apron back into place. “Because I want to see the look on her face when she finds out. And I don’t want her to try to weasel out of...well, never mind that.”

Tuuri narrowed her eyes. “I think I _do_ mind, actually. What would she weasel out of?”

Emil stepped backward, out of Tuuri’s reach. “Uh...well, she kind of owes me twenty bucks.”

Only Reynir’s presence kept Tuuri from vaulting the counter to strangle her roommate. “You were BETTING on us? AGAIN?!”

“Shhh!” Emil jerked his head in Reynir’s direction and made soothing motions with his hands.

Tuuri lowered her voice, but she wasn’t about to let the subject drop. “What _exactly_ were the terms of this bet?”

Emil fidgeted with a rack of waffle cones. “Well...I bet that you two would have a real, one-on-one date before the week was out.”

There was something he wasn’t saying. “And?” Tuuri asked.

“Umm…” Emil looked at the floor, then the ceiling, studiously avoiding Tuuri’s eyes. “Sigrun...thought it was a wimpy bet, so she put her twenty on the two of you...staying over...together. Last night. Either his place or ours.” He grinned. “But clearly you didn’t, because I saw you this morning and you were leaving to meet him! So I win!”

Pink infused Tuuri’s cheeks, but not from embarrassment. “Really.” Cold rage infused her voice.

Emil took another step back. “It...it was Sigrun’s idea!”

Tuuri leaned on the counter and locked eyes with him. “Well, since I’ve just made you richer by $20, I think our ice cream is on the house today. Right, Emil?”

Emil opened his mouth to protest—he wasn’t supposed to give his friends free ice cream, and Tuuri knew it—but the look on her face stopped him. “Ah, sure, whatever you want. It’s better than toilet duty, I guess.”

“What’s better than toilet duty?” Reynir asked. He was back in earshot.

Tuuri had to give Emil credit; he might spend too much time on his hair, but he could also think on his feet. “The, uh, Triple Fudge Twist. See, we had a flavor called ‘Toilet Duty’ as an April Fool's gag, but it wasn’t very good. Triple Fudge Twist is much better. Do you want to try some?”

While Reynir was trying to decide whether he preferred Triple Fudge Twist or Mocha Avalanche, Emil whispered, “See? I’m not ruining it.”

Tuuri accepted a sample spoon and muttered, “Fine. You can tell Sigrun. But no more betting!”

The sky was still grey by the time they left the ice cream parlor a few minutes later, but at least the rain had stopped. Both of them were quiet, working their way through cones piled high. Tuuri had gone with her favorite flavor, Strawberry Daydream; Reynir, after trying every flavor that caught his fancy, decided on the Crème Brûlée. “I can’t believe that torch doesn’t melt the ice cream,” he said, crunching on a bit of scorched sugar shell.

Tuuri couldn’t believe Emil’s employers allowed him to wield open flames—and was amazed, frankly, that he hadn’t burned the place down by now. Maybe the pink aprons were fire-retardant.

Tuuri didn’t want to think about Emil, though. She’d rather think about Reynir, who had reached for her hand again as soon as they left the ice cream shop. It was a nice hand: long-fingered, calloused from working but gentle. She liked the way it felt wrapped around hers.

The walk back to Reynir’s house took surprisingly little time; Tuuri fought down a surge of disappointment. _I should go home. Reynir probably has other things he needs to do with his day. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take up much more of his time._ And of course she had to keep an eye on the clock herself—family dinner would come all too soon, and Onni would worry if she was late. She should head home now to give herself plenty of time. Yes. She’d walk Reynir to his door, thank him for a lovely brunch, and leave.

They arrived at Reynir’s house, and Tuuri fumbled for the words while Reynir fumbled with his keys. _Just tell him you have to go. He’ll understand._

Reynir found the right key and turned it in the lock. “Say, uh...do you want to come in for a cup of tea? Or do you need to get going?”

_Now’s your chance!_

“I’d love some tea!”

_Oops._

Inside, Tuuri browsed the bookshelf while Reynir clattered about the kitchen. Apparently his taste in literature ran to...well, everything. Science fiction, history, folk tales, a handful of books about gardening, a smattering of classics...one title caught Tuuri’s eye, and she pulled it off the shelf. “Really?”

Reynir stuck his head around the kitchen door. “What?”

Tuuri held up the book. “You own this book? Have you read it?”

Reynir came in with two steaming mugs. “Of course I’ve read it! When you live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, you read every book you can get your hands on. There’s not a lot else to do out there, in the winter.” He handed one cup of tea to Tuuri and set the other on the coffee table, then flopped down on the couch. Green eyes offered an invitation.

Tuuri took a seat on the cushion next to him, still holding the book. “I just think it’s a funny book for you to have. I mean...isn’t it kind of cheesy?”

Reynir stiffened. “What? No, it’s a beautiful story! Longing glances, couching everything in fancy words, and the whole thing with their hands touching…” He frowned at Tuuri’s blank expression. “Wait. You’ve read this, right?”

“Uh...I think I saw the movie?” she said.

“But that’s not the same!” His mouth twisted, and he shook his head. “Right. Here’s what we’ll do: you drink your tea, and I’ll read it to you. It’s a perfect book for tea and rainy days.”

Tuuri snickered. “Haha, okay. Read away, farm boy.” She blew on her tea to cool it.

Reynir settled himself more comfortably, then turned to the first page. “ _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…_ ”

Reynir read, and Tuuri sipped her tea. After a while, she shifted closer to him—to hear better, of course. His arm settled around her—he probably needed to stretch—and at that point it only made sense to rest her head on his shoulder. She finished her tea, but made no move to get up and go home. In a minute, maybe. The book was better than she’d expected, and Reynir had a pleasant voice.

 _This is a nice way to end a date,_ she thought. _Strange, but nice. Maybe we can do it again…_

It was her last thought before she slipped into sleep.

* * *

 

Reynir woke slowly. _Such strange dreams. I was on a date with Tuuri, and she let me hold her hand and put my arm around her...and we almost kissed. But then I was wearing a Regency-era dress, and Purrito wanted me to get married so I didn't die a spinster, and…why do I have such a crick in my neck?_

Something soft brushed against his face, and Reynir’s eyes flew open. He was slumped on the couch. The book lay on the floor where it had fallen from his hand...and his arms circled Tuuri, who slept with her head on his chest. Her hair tickled his chin.

“Oh!”

The word burst out of him; he was too surprised to hold it in.

Tuuri stirred. Blinked, then blinked again. Her eyes opened wide. “Reynir?”

His face flooded crimson. “Uh...hi?” _Oh my gosh! I can’t believe we—she must think I’m—what am I even supposed to do with my hands right now?_ He couldn’t exactly pull away, but he didn’t want her to think he was being inappropriate, or—

She smiled. “Well. I guess the book kind of put me to sleep, but...this is nice.” She shifted a little so she was sitting up, still inside the circle of his arms. Her face was so close, and she seemed intent on bringing it closer.

_Oh. Maybe she...doesn’t mind? Maybe…_

Brakes squealed outside; Tuuri’s gaze darted to the window for a split second. One second was all it took.

“Oh no!” She pulled away from him, still focused on the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the glass. “What time is it? How long were we asleep? I’m going to be so late…” She jumped up from the couch and stumbled across the room to dig in her bag. “Phone, phone, where is...ah!”

Reynir got to his feet. “Is everything okay?”

Tuuri shook her head and scrolled through her phone. “So many missed messages...oh, he must be out of his mind!” She turned back to Reynir. “I’m so sorry, I have to leave right away! I was supposed to go to this family thing, but we fell asleep and—”

_Oh no, I did ruin everything! She’s all upset!_

“No, no, I’m sorry, I should have...I mean, I shouldn’t…” _What am I even saying?_

Before he could figure it out, someone pounded on the door. Reynir exchanged mystified glances with Tuuri, then went to see who it was. “Hi, can I help—oof!”

Reynir staggered backward as the door was wrenched out of his hand. Someone caught him in an iron grip and slammed him against the wall. He had a confused impression of disheveled pale hair and berserker blue eyes.

A gruff male voice demanded, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SISTER?!?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was almost kissing in this chapter...but there isn't. Oops! Happy (early) Valentine's Day anyway! 
> 
> A few things: there used to be an ice cream parlor where I grew up that would do crazy flavors of ice cream for April Fool's day. They didn't have one called "toilet duty" but I remember they did a chicken wing flavor once.
> 
> Also, in case anyone isn't familiar, the book Reynir reads from at the end is _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen. I once read a book in which the (male) author talked about having that book on the shelf to impress girls, even though he hadn't read it, because it's widely regarded as a great love story. I found it a very silly idea, but it stuck with me. I figured it wouldn't be terribly out of character for Reynir to have it...and if he owned it, he would most likely have read it. (Oh, who am I kidding...he probably reads it every year and hangs on every word.)


	7. Bitter, Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date didn't end the way either of them hoped...but maybe they can still figure things out.

“Onni, stop! Put him down!”

The hands pinning Reynir to the wall loosened their grip; his feet hit the floor with a _thump._ “Oww!” he groaned. His shoulders felt like one giant bruise.

Reynir’s assailant ignored him, turning instead to where Tuuri stood in the living room doorway. “Tuuri!” He crossed the room in one step and wrapped her in a hug. “You weren’t home, and you didn’t answer your phone, and I thought—”

Tuuri said something that Reynir couldn’t quite catch—her voice was muffled by the man’s chest. Now that Reynir wasn’t being threatened and shouted at, he recognized the man from the photo in Tuuri’s room. _Her brother. How did he know where to find her?_

Evidently Tuuri was wondering the same thing, because she extracted herself from her brother’s embrace and frowned at him. “Onni, I’m _fine._ I left my phone in my bag because I don’t have pockets, and I lost track of time. What are you doing here? Have you been tracking my phone again?! I thought you promised not to do that anymore!”

Onni’s face went red. “What? No! I went to your house but you weren’t there, and Lalli had no idea where to find you. I called Emil, but _he_ didn’t answer his phone either. So I went to the ice cream place and Emil said you were ‘probably still at the farmer’s house’ and gave me this address...”

“You called _Emil?”_ Tuuri put her hands on her hips. “How did you get his phone number? And why were you at my house in the first place? You hate coming into the city! I know I’m late, but I was only supposed to be at your house ten minutes ago.”

Onni folded his arms and leaned back, everything about his posture reflecting his distress. “I _thought_ I would come pick you up, since you were so worried about money for gas. I left early in case I hit traffic. But then you weren’t there, and you weren’t answering the phone. I thought something terrible had happened to you!”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but—”

Onni plowed on as though Tuuri hadn’t spoken. “And then I find you _here_ , with this...this _stranger_ who could be doing who-knows-what—”

“ONNI!” Tuuri’s face was bright red. “That’s completely unfair, Reynir didn’t do anything! Except take me on the nicest date I’ve _ever_ been on, before you barged in and ruined it!”

“A _DATE?!”_ Onni’s voice rose to a roar.

“Ah...sorry to interrupt, but…”

Both Tuuri and Onni swiveled to stare at Reynir. He swallowed hard. “Uh...maybe we should all sit down? I can get you something to drink, or just step outside if you need to talk privately…” he trailed off, tongue-tied by Onni’s increasingly ferocious glare.

“Who are _you_ , anyway? What do you think you’re doing with my sister?”

The question was still hostile, but at least it didn’t come with a fist. Reynir took that as a good sign. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Reynir Árnason. Tuuri and I met at the Mad Moose, because I work there sometimes and her band plays there. Then we met again at the bike shop where _she_ works, and then we ate food out of a truck and—”

Onni cut him off. “You know what? I really don’t care. Tuuri, let’s go, we’re late enough as it is.” He started towards the door.

Tuuri didn’t move. “Excuse me?”

Onni paused in the doorway. “What? We have to go. Get your things.”

“Hell no!” Tuuri narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Not until you apologize for shoving Reynir up against the wall. You can’t just burst in, make a scene, and then expect me to follow you while you storm out! Say you’re sorry, then we can go.”

Onni’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. At last he turned to Reynir, cold as an icicle and twice as stiff. “I apologize. For intruding on your home, and laying hands on you.” He nodded at Tuuri, then stepped outside.

The minute he was gone, Tuuri deflated. “I’m so sorry about all of this,” she said. She stooped to pick up her satchel. “It really was a lovely date. I hope we can...I mean...augh.” She shook her head. “I should go.”

The apology broke Reynir’s heart far more than the shouting had. _It’s not her fault! If I hadn’t suggested she come in for tea, if I hadn’t read that book that put us both to sleep...now everyone’s upset._

“No, don’t be—it’s okay, Tuuri. I’ll...we’ll…” he didn’t know what to say to make it better, so instead he offered a one-armed hug.

Tuuri hugged him back, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re sweet. I’ll...call you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Reynir stood at the door and watched her go. Her shoulders were slumped, and there was no sign of the usual spring in her step. He raked a hand through his hair, wishing he’d found a way to help her leave with a smile. His hand came away coated with flower petals, wilted and beginning to fade. _I guess it couldn’t last forever._

* * *

 

Tuuri held her silence all the way to Onni’s car. Even then, she only broke it long enough to mutter a greeting to Lalli, who was slouched in the front seat. She wasn’t mad at _him_ , after all. But once Onni was in the car she clamped her mouth shut and leaned against the window, keeping as far away from her brother as she could. He didn’t try to talk to her, just sighed and started driving. They stayed like that, neither of them speaking, for the whole drive. Turri glanced up, just once, and her eyes met Onni’s in the mirror. She hastily averted her gaze.

When the car pulled up in front of Onni’s house—which Tuuri still had trouble thinking of as his, not Granny’s, even after all this time—Tuuri sat where she was, trying to summon the will to get out. _I can’t keep this up all night. If I don’t talk, no one else will either._ Onni and Lalli seemed to communicate by meaningful glances half the time; it was up to Tuuri to draw the other two out of their silence. But it was hard, impossible really, to look at Onni and not relive the moment her date with Reynir shattered into a thousand pieces. _Oh, Farm Boy. You’ll probably never talk to me again, and I wouldn’t blame you._

The car door opened. Tuuri jerked her head up before she could think better of it; Onni looked down at her.

“Tuuri...are you going to come inside?”

She glared at him. “I’m still deciding.”

Misery etched itself across Onni’s features. “I’m sorry. I know I...lost my temper.”

“You mean, you shoved my date against the wall,” Tuuri corrected.

Onni sighed. “Yes. But I...it’s…” he took a deep breath and looked at the ground, “I can’t go back and change what happened, Tuuri.”

_No, you can’t. That’s the story of our lives, isn’t it?_

All she said aloud was, “I really like him, Onni. And I think he probably liked me too. But after today…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He stood awkwardly by the door for a moment longer, then added, “Not that it helps, but I made your favorite for dinner. I...guess I should go check on it.” He hesitated. “Will you come?”

She didn’t _want_ to. She wanted to hotwire the car and break the speed limit driving back to Reynir’s house. Onni almost deserved it, for ruining her date.

But he didn’t _really_ deserve it. Just like he didn’t deserve the worry lines on his forehead, or the grey hairs that didn’t quite blend in among the silvery blond. He hadn’t done anything to earn the circumstances that had made him her guardian at the age of eighteen, but he’d done the best he could. So instead of shouting in Onni’s face or stealing his keys, Tuuri unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car.

“So,” she said, following Onni up the path to the house, “what’s my favorite tonight?”

Onni glanced up from unlocking the front door. Cautious hope hovered in his eyes. “Do you really want me to tell you? I thought guessing was your favorite part.”

An image sprang unbidden into Tuuri’s mind: Reynir swallowing a huge bit of Pad Thai, trying to figure out what they put in the sauce. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore. “Never mind, I’ll eat whatever it is. I don’t feel like guessing tonight.” She turned and left the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to see the hurt on Onni’s face. She knew he was trying to make up with her. They had a long-standing joke that Tuuri’s favorite food was anything she’d never tried before; usually, when Onni found a new recipe, they’d make a game of guessing what was in it and where it originated. But her heart wasn’t in it tonight. The world map in her head kept turning into the map on her bedroom ceiling, which turned into staring at that map while holding Reynir’s hand. _Not to mention waking up in Reynir’s arms and feeling like I wanted to stay there all day._ She pushed that thought away. It was no good thinking about what might have happened, and her bitterness was tainting the sweet memory.

Tuuri paced down the hallway. As always, the house felt both stifling and far too big for only three people. Every corner echoed with reminders of the family who were no longer here. Normally Tuuri did her best to fill empty spaces with conversation. But she couldn’t face being in the kitchen with Onni right now, and Lalli was probably off playing video games or hacking Onni’s laptop. With a sigh, Tuuri made her way to the bedroom that used to be hers. She slumped on the bed and pulled out her phone.

_No New Messages._

Not that she’d expected any. She’d told Reynir _she_ would call _him_ , after all. But she couldn’t help hoping for...something. Her finger hovered over his name, but she couldn’t bring herself to press “call”. _Give it time._

The phone buzzed: a text message, not a call. And it wasn’t from Reynir.

  _EMIL: Are you dead?_

Tuuri frowned at the phone for a minute before responding.

_TUURI: No. Why?_

_EMIL: Oh. Crap_

_TUURI: …Excuse me?_

_EMIL: No sorry I didn’t mean it like that_

_EMIL: Onni thought you were dead_

_EMIL: So I told him where to find you_

_EMIL: And now you’re probably mad at me_

_TUURI: What makes you think that?_

_EMIL: Umm…_

_EMIL: You were pretty clear about not ruining your date_

_EMIL: And if Onni killed your farmer that probably counts as ruined_

_TUURI: …_

_TUURI: Onni didn’t kill him._

_EMIL: Oh good_

_TUURI: He did throw him against the wall though._

_EMIL: WHAT?!?_

_TUURI: And you’re right, it totally ruined my date._

_TUURI: Thanks for reminding me._

_EMIL: Look I’m really sorry_

_EMIL: Onni was freaking out_

_EMIL: And you weren’t answering your phone_

_EMIL: Also I think he might have thrown ME against a wall if I didn’t tell him_

_EMIL: ...Tuuri?_

_EMIL: Are you still there?_

_Tuuri Hotakainen has shared a file: HOUSE-CHORE-CHART-JULY-JANUARY.doc with Emil Västerström_

_TUURI: Still here._

_TUURI: Just making some changes to the chore schedule. I believe we agreed on 6 months if my date got ruined, right?_

_EMIL: HEY!_

_EMIL: It’s not MY fault!_

_EMIL: Onni’s the one who freaked out!_

_TUURI: Do you want to tell Onni HE has to clean our toilets for the next six months?_

_TUURI: You’re welcome to try it._

_EMIL: …_

_EMIL: You’re evil_

_TUURI: I’m an adorable bunny and you know it._

_EMIL: …_

_EMIL: Fine. Cute AND evil_

_EMIL: But anyway_

_EMIL: Have you heard anything from the farmer since you left?_

_TUURI: …_

_TUURI: No._

_TUURI: :(_

_EMIL: Oh_

_EMIL: Sorry. That’s rough_

_TUURI: Yeah. I...might call him. Later._

_EMIL: Hmm_

_EMIL: Just don’t wait too long_

_TUURI: What does that mean?!_

_TUURI: You don’t have another bet on with Sigrun, do you?!?_

_EMIL: ...Nooooo_

_TUURI: EMIL!_

_EMIL: Oops there’s a customer, gotta go_

 

“Ugh!” Tuuri tossed the phone down. Emil was no help. Not that she should have expected him to be; she’d never known him to have a boyfriend, either. _And that’s what I want from Reynir,_ she realized. _I don’t only like him as a friend, I want...something different. Boyfriend-level-different, even. But how can I tell him that now, after that disaster?_

She couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to do that to him, to ask him if he shared her feelings. She shouldn’t be dragging that sweet boy into her messy life. Only...her life wouldn’t get less messy unless she did something about it. Granny Hotakainen used to tell Onni that there was no way to fix yesterday; all you could do was use today to fix tomorrow. _And there’s still a little bit of today left, isn’t there?_

The thought stayed with her all through dinner. It distracted her from Onni’s stilted attempts at conversation and Lalli’s picky eating habits. She was still mulling it over when they got in the car to drive back into the city. It wasn’t until they were nearing their exit that the idea crystallized into a plan.

“Onni?”

Her brother jerked to attention. “Yes?”

Tuuri took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like this. “I need to make a stop on the way home.”

* * *

 

Reynir normally fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but tonight he lay wide awake. Tossing and turning didn’t help, and neither did squeezing his eyes shut and willing sleep to come. The kitten got annoyed and stalked away to sleep on the couch, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Tomorrow’s early morning loomed over him, but that wasn’t what kept him up. His mind was in turmoil, and it was all because of Tuuri.

Ever since she left, he’d alternated between despair and elation. Elation, because he couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of Tuuri’s hand in his, or the expression on her face when she tucked flowers into his hair. He suspected he would dream about the way she ate strawberries. But those bright bubbles dissolved into despair when he thought of the way she’d left, dejected, in the wake of her brother’s ire.

 _It’s all my fault. That silly book...I just wanted to spend more time with her. If I’d known how it would end up, I would have made sure we didn’t waste so much of that time sleeping._ Maybe that was why he couldn’t sleep now; he resented it for taking Tuuri away.

He glanced across the room where he’d left his phone. It was dark: no new messages. He rolled over and stared at the wall instead. He’d had to leave his phone where he couldn’t reach it; he’d been glued to it ever since Tuuri left. It was too soon to expect a call from her, but that hadn’t stopped Reynir from staring at her name in his contacts section, listing all the reasons why he shouldn’t call. As the evening progressed, he’d also had to list reasons not to call his parents and every one of his siblings, because he badly wanted to talk to _someone._ The kitten was a good listener, but she didn’t give good advice.

_Tap tap tap_

A faint sound from the direction of the kitchen. Reynir sat up and strained his ears. Was Purrito getting into something she shouldn’t?

_Tap tap tap_

No; it was too regular to be Purrito. Her play usually ended with a _crash._ This was more like...knocking.

Reynir kicked off his blankets and padded to the front door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob for a second—the last time he’d opened it for someone, he’d been hurled against the wall—but the tap-tap-tapping sounded too polite for an angry brother. Reynir braced himself and opened the door.

“Hey, Reynir.”

Tuuri was back. She looked like a disheveled fairy queen in the streetlight’s orange glow, still wearing her crown of wilting flowers. Despite the heat, she hugged her arms to her chest as though she was cold. Reynir just barely resisted the impulse to invite her in and offer her tea. _No! Not after what happened last time. But I can’t just stand here staring at her. Quick, say something witty!_

“Tuuri! What are you doing here? Did you forget something?” _Wow. So much for wit._

Tuuri cracked a halfhearted smile. “No. Well, yes...I did leave my bike locked up here. That’s why I told Onni we had to stop on our way home. But...that’s not really why I came.” She took a deep breath, and Reynir found his own breath hitching, waiting for her answer. “I...had a really good time today,” she said, “even with the rain. I liked getting to spend so much time with you. And I want to spend more time with you, because...well, because I like you. A lot.” It was hard to tell in the near-dark, but he thought she was blushing. He probably was, too.

Tuuri wasn’t finished. “Anyway, I’m sorry about how things ended. It wasn’t what I was hoping for.”

A laugh bubbled up in Reynir’s chest. “Oh? So you mean you _weren’t_ hoping I’d bore you to sleep and get you in trouble with your brother?” He grinned. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting it either.”

Now Tuuri’s smile looked genuine. “No, I generally try to avoid sending Onni into berserker mode. Though...the book wasn’t all that boring, and the falling asleep thing was okay.” She stepped closer. “In fact, if Onni hadn’t interrupted, I think it would have made for a pretty nice ending.” She put her hands on his shoulders and rose up on the balls of her feet; Reynir leaned forward. Their faces were close enough that he could easily hear her whisper: “I was hoping for something more like this.” Then she kissed him.

Reynir should have expected it. They’d almost kissed two other times that day, after all. But even with the warning, he was still stunned by the soft warmth of Tuuri’s lips on his. By the time he realized he should probably be kissing her back, it was over.

Tuuri stepped back. “So, uh...yeah, I should probably go…”

Reynir’s brain caught up with the rest of him. “Wait! No, hang on—” He reached for her hand. Tuuri froze, and it was Reynir’s turn to step closer. He matched his palms to hers, and their fingers knit together. “I like your ending better. And...I also like you. I’ve been thinking that all day, but I forgot to say it. So...yeah.” He couldn’t think of any other words, but with Tuuri smiling at him the words didn’t seem so important. He rested his forehead on hers, and this time when their lips met both of them were ready.

Eventually Tuuri pulled away again, glancing toward the road. “I really should be going. Onni’s probably waiting to make sure I get my bike and get home safe. We don’t want him to come looking for me.” She smiled as she said it, and Reynir smiled back.

“All right. I guess I’ll…see you later, then?” he said.

Tuuri adjusted her helmet and held up her phone. “I’ll call you soon. Probably…embarrassingly soon.”

Reynir laughed. “I’d like that. I have to get to sleep now, but…tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Tuuri agreed. She turned her bike towards the road, but looked back over her shoulder. “Sweet dreams, farm boy.”

"Sweet dreams."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, would you look at that...these cuties managed to get over their mutual awkwardness long enough to kiss! Don't tell Onni though, he'll come after Reynir again.
> 
> I feel like this chapter has less cute and more angsty family drama than I intended, but my feelings about Onni have been getting more and more intense lately. Hopefully I managed to portray him well...he's a complicated one, especially when seen through Tuuri's eyes. (Some of her weasel side shows through here, but she's understandably a little upset.)


	8. Definitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some tunes don't need words. Some tunes do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably takes place a week or so after the previous chapter.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Things are going really well here! I’ve been busy, but in a good way. There are so many things to do during the summer in this city!_

_Also, I can’t say anything yet because it’s not official, but I might have some exciting news for you soon. At least, it’s something that makes me really happy, so hopefully it will make you happy too! I’ll write with more details when I know for sure._

_Love, your son,_

_Reynir Árnason_

_P.S. Purrito says “meow” which I assume means “hello” in kitty-talk._

 

**_Transcript of text messages between Sigrun Eide and Mikkel Madsen_ **

_SIGRUN: HEEEEEY MADS!!!_

_MIKKEL: Sigrun. How many times have I asked you not to call me that?_

_MIKKEL: And furthermore, I also distinctly remember calling you. Why are you texting me?_

_SIGRUN: CALLS ARE LAME! ALSO IM EATING_

_MIKKEL: Fine. I suppose texting is better than listening to you talk with your mouth full. Did you at least listen to the voicemail I left?_

_SIGRUN: HAHA NO_

_SIGRUN: WHO REMEMBERS THE PASSWORD FOR THAT? NOT ME_

_SIGRUN: WHATS UP?_

_MIKKEL: I need a favor._

_SIGRUN: O RLY?_

_MIKKEL: Could you please refrain from those abbreviations? The shouting is bad enough._

_SIGRUN: OK BUT THATS A WEIRD FAVOR_

_MIKKEL: That is not the favor, merely a request._

_MIKKEL: The favor is slightly complicated._

_MIKKEL: Too complicated for a text message, actually._

_MIKKEL: I’m going to call you again, and this time will you please answer your phone?_

_SIGRUN: MAAAAAYBE_

_SIGRUN: IS THAT THE FAVOR?_

_MIKKEL: No._

_SIGRUN: SOUNDS LIKE A FAVOR TO ME_

_SIGRUN: KINDA ASKING A LOT MADS_

_SIGRUN: GONNA OWE ME ALL KINDS OF FAVORS BACK_

_SIGRUN: *WINK WINK*_

_MIKKEL: Please just pick up the phone. We can discuss repayment later._

 

**_Transcript of text messages between Farmer Boy [Reynir Árnason] and MOST BEST Bike Mechanic Chick [Tuuri Hotakainen]_ **

_REYNIR: Good morning!_

_TUURI: Hey, Sunshine! :)_

_TUURI: How are things at the farm?_

_REYNIR: Great! I just finished a bunch of weeding. Taking a break now, we have a volunteer group coming in soon._

_REYNIR: How’s the bike shop?_

_TUURI: Slow right now. But we’re doing a workshop on basic repairs in an hour, so it’ll get busy._

_REYNIR: Ah. Sounds fun!_

_REYNIR: So...are you busy tonight?_

_TUURI: I don’t think so, why?_

_REYNIR: Well...I was thinking we could hang out? If you want?_

_TUURI: I do want!_

_TUURI: You can come to my house after work, unless you’d rather I came to you…?_

_REYNIR: Your house is good!_

_TUURI: Great!_

_TUURI: See you then. Have fun with your weeds!_

_REYNIR: And you have fun with your workshop!_

_REYNIR: <3_

_TUURI: <3_

 

* * *

 

 

Reynir shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for someone to answer his knock. Tuuri had told him to just walk in, but he wasn’t sure how her housemates would feel about it. Walking in unannounced seemed presumptuous, somehow. It implied a certain claim on the space—and on Tuuri—that he wasn’t sure he’d earned yet. He knocked again.

The door opened a crack. Reynir caught a glimpse of a blue eye and pale hair, then the door snapped shut again. “Uhh...hello?” he said. He could hear sounds on the other side of the door now, a muffled thump followed by voices. He caught the words “...can’t just slam the door when you don’t want to see someone...she’ll get mad at us—” and what sounded like a growl in reply. After a minute the door opened again.

“Heeeeey, Reynir!” Emil smiled, a wide grin that showed all of his teeth. “Fancy seeing you here!”

In the dining room, Lalli perched sideways on a chair with his knees pulled up to his chin. His hair stuck up every which-way, and he was glaring at Reynir over his folded arms. Tuuri was nowhere in sight.

“Umm...hi, Emil. Hey Lalli. Is Tuuri here?”

Emil smoothed his already-sleek hair and smiled wider. “Oh, sure, Tuuri’s in her room. Go ahead and go up, she won’t mind.”

“Oh. Thanks!” Reynir wasn’t sure why Tuuri’s roommates were acting so strange—though come to think of it, he hadn’t exactly figured out what “normal” looked like for Lalli, yet—but at least no one had shoved him against a wall. He headed for the stairs.

He heard Tuuri before he saw her. As he neared her bedroom door he could make out the sound of someone playing chords on a stringed instrument, occasionally stopping to try again when one of them came out wrong. Reynir kept quiet and leaned against the door frame to listen. Tuuri didn’t see him; she was perched on her bed with all her attention on the instrument in her lap. Reynir didn’t know much about instruments, but he thought whatever she was playing was too small to be a guitar. And weren’t banjos a different shape? Whatever it was, it sounded nice with the tune Tuuri was humming while she played. The whole scene was relaxing: sun streaming through the window to halo Tuuri in warm light, a hint of a breeze ruffling her hair—even the look of concentration on her face felt peaceful. Reynir sighed. He couldn’t imagine anything he’d rather look at.

Then Tuuri raised her eyes and Reynir found he was wrong, because the smile that lit her face was even better. “Reynir!” She put the instrument aside and started to stand, but subsided when Reynir crossed the room to meet her. “I didn’t hear you come in. How long were you standing there?”

Reynir grinned and picked up the instrument so he could take its place next to Tuuri. He ran a hand along the smooth grain and plucked one of the strings. “Not long, just enough to hear a little bit. What song was that? I didn’t know you played anything but the drums.”

“Oh, that.” Tuuri reached for Reynir’s free hand and twined her fingers with his. “I was just playing around with something; I haven’t really figured out any words to go with that tune. I’m trying to teach myself the ukulele so maybe I can put together a whole song some day.”

Reynir squeezed her hand. “That’s so cool! I can’t wait to hear it. Will you play it with the rest of the band, or…?” He trailed off as Tuuri shook her head.

“No, it’s...I don’t know, I’m not really a songwriter like Emil or Sigrun. They write _real_ music, the kind you can play in front of a crowd. Everything I come up with is just sort of cute and sweet.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Reynir asked. “I like cute and sweet.”

Tuuri smiled and reached up to cradle his cheek in her palm. “You _are_ cute and sweet.”

Reynir dropped the ukulele and leaned into her touch. “So are you.”

He was getting better at anticipating Tuuri’s kisses. At first he’d been constantly unprepared; she’d caught him by surprise the first time, and then again when he stopped by the bike shop to see her the next day. He’d been _almost_ prepared for the third, at the end of their second date, and on the third date he’d actually kissed her. So this time when he saw the little gleam in her eye, he was ready for what followed.

“I like this,” Tuuri murmured when they drew apart again. “No rainstorms or overprotective brothers to interrupt us.”

“Yeah,” Reynir agreed. Maybe they were getting better at choosing date locations, too.

Someone coughed in the hallway. “Okay, please don’t hate me, but—”

Then again, maybe they weren’t.

Tuuri swung around to glare at the door. “Emil, what—why are you covering your eyes?!”

Emil hovered in the doorway. What could be seen of his face behind his hands was bright red. “I didn’t want to...accidentally see anything.”

Tuuri sighed, and Reynir couldn’t help noticing that she was adorable even when she was annoyed. “There’s nothing to _see_ , we’re just sitting here!” Tuuri said. “What do you want?”

Emil moved his hands. “Oh. Uh...I’m really sorry, but Sigrun called. Apparently we’re playing a show tonight?”

“WHAT?!” Tuuri was on her feet so fast she nearly knocked Reynir over. “She never said anything about that! What time?”

Emil backed away, holding his hands out as though he could ward off Tuuri’s rage. “Don’t look at me, this is the first I’m hearing about it too! We’re supposed to go on in an hour.” He turned to Reynir. “Hey...shouldn’t you be there already? You’re always at the bar when we play.”

“Uh...I…” Reynir felt a flutter of panic. _Am I supposed to be there? I can’t remember!_ It was hard to remember anything so soon after that kiss, but he could all-too-clearly imagine Mikkel’s reaction if he was late. _Oh no!_

Tuuri was digging through her closet, holding up garments and then flinging them aside. “Ugh, what is Sigrun _thinking?_ An hour is barely enough time to get there and set up, we won’t have time for a proper sound check or anything…” she emerged with an armful of clothes. “What are you two still doing in here? Go start loading our equipment!” She grabbed Reynir’s arm and pushed him toward the door.

“Okay, but shouldn’t I…just...go? If I’m already late...”

Tuuri bit her lip. “Oh. Yeah, I guess...but...the bus will take a while, right? And it shouldn’t take us _that_ long to load and get there, especially if we have your help. But...” she trailed off and looked away, “you can go, if you want.”

Her words squeezed Reynir’s heart. He hated to be late, but the thought of leaving his friends when they needed his help—well, that was even worse. “No, you’re right, I’ll stay. And hey,” he paused in the doorway to look into Tuuri’s eyes, “don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine. You guys are going to rock!”

Her frenzied expression softened. “I hope we will.”

Feeling greatly daring with Emil’s eyes on them, Reynir planted a kiss on Tuuri’s forehead. “I know you will.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh _no_ , look at the crowd!” Tuuri moaned. Despite all their best efforts, the band was running late, and the bar was already packed. Reynir disappeared behind the bar as soon as they walked through the door, and it surprised Tuuri how much she missed his steady presence. She and Emil were both on edge, frazzled from hurrying over, and Lalli was still half-asleep. So when Sigrun bounded over to greet them, no one responded with much enthusiasm.

“Look alive, Troll Hunters! We’re gonna give these people a show!”

Tuuri gritted her teeth and focused on setting up her drum kit, but Emil couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “We’d give them a better show if we’d had some warning. Why didn’t you tell us we were playing tonight?”

Sigrun rolled her eyes and adjusted her guitar strap. “Aww, don’t pout, Pretty Boy! When you’re in the music business you gotta learn to roll with the punches. And this isn’t even a punch, it’s a little love tap.”

Emil snorted. “More like a stab in the back.”

“Hey!” Sigrun stepped closer to him. “It’s not like I did it on purpose! I just kind of…forgot.”

 _“Forgot?”_ Emil drew himself up to his full height, which was still considerably shorter than Sigrun’s. “You’re supposed to be our leader! You can’t just _forget_ to tell us when we have a gig! What if I had other plans tonight? Am I supposed to just drop everything and—”

“Oh, please, you didn’t have any plans! Unless you count ‘preening in front of the mirror’, which I don’t—”

Annoyed as she was, Tuuri decided it was time to intervene before things got ugly. “Look, everyone calm down. Complaining won’t fix anything. I mean, I actually _had_ plans tonight, and you don’t hear me carrying on, do you?”

Emil smirked. “Uh huh, looked like you had _big_ plans. Don’t worry, I’m sure you and Reynir can get back to those _plans_ later.” He winked.

Sigrun dropped her aggressive posture and punched Tuuri in the arm. “Ooh, _that_ kind of plans! Look at you!”

Tuuri’s cheeks blazed. “What? No! Get your minds out of the gutter! I just meant we were going to spend some time together, that’s all!”

“ _Suuuure.”_ Sigrun elbowed Emil. “You don’t have to be bashful, Fuzzy-head.”

Emil winced and rubbed his side, but his smirk remained. “Yeah. You have a cute boyfriend, it’s perfectly natural to want some... _quality time_.”

“But I don’t...we’re not…”

Sigrun interrupted her. “Less talk, more setup. You can moon over Freckles later.”

“Yeah, but we’re not...he isn’t…” It was no good; they weren’t listening. Sigrun and Emil went back to setting up with their moods much improved, but Tuuri was even more unsettled than before. Not because of the teasing; by now she was getting used to the way Sigrun and Emil always assumed she and Reynir were...getting up to things. No, it was the other thing Emil had said. _Boyfriend. But he isn’t, is he? I mean, we’ve been on a few dates and obviously we like each other, but we haven’t exactly talked about it. I can’t just call him that without asking, can I?_ The trouble was, she didn’t know how to bring it up. If he already assumed they were boyfriend and girlfriend, she’d feel silly for asking. And what if she asked...and he said no? That would be worse.

She worried at the thought all through the first set. It affected her drumming, made it jittery and unfocused. And that distraction carried over to the other musicians. Emil’s keyboards were sulky and sluggish; Sigrun’s guitar possessed an almost frantic energy to compensate. Only Lalli was unaffected, but since it took him half the set to wake up properly he wasn’t much help. By the time the first set ended, Tuuri was ready to scream. But since that would probably make things worse, she settled for fleeing the stage almost as fast as Lalli.

The mob at the bar did nothing to lift her spirits. Reynir was completely swamped, trapped at the far end making a never-ending string of mixed drinks for a group of chattering girls. Tuuri glared and wondered if it was worth the effort to fight her way through the mass.

“If looks could kill, you’d be on your way to prison.”

Tuuri tore her eyes away from the girls around Reynir. “What?”

Mikkel handed her a glass of water. “I see a lot of things from back here. Like you staring down my customers just because they’re flirting with your boy.”

There it was again: why did people keep assuming Reynir was ‘her’ anything?

“And now it looks like you’re thinking about killing me,” Mikkel observed.

Tuuri shook her head. “Sorry! I’m not quite myself tonight.” She gulped the water, which did nothing to cool her burning cheeks. She decided to change the subject. “Hey—I’m sure Reynir already apologized, but I’m sorry for making him late! It was my fault, really.”

Mikkel raised an eyebrow. “Oh? He apologized, but he seemed to think it was all _his_ fault. Strange. In any case,” he added, passing a couple of beers to the customer next to her, “the apology was unnecessary. He wasn’t late, he was twenty-three hours early.”

Tuuri blinked. “What? But we thought—”

A hint of a smile played on the stoic proprietor’s face. “I know what you thought. He wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but with this crowd I needed the extra hand anyway. So thanks for bringing him along. I hoped you would.”

“Wait…” Tuuri narrowed her eyes, “Does that mean _you_ did—Sigrun said she forgot we had a show, but she doesn’t usually...did you _plan_ this?”

Mikkel didn’t answer her, only let another tiny smile creep out. “It appears I have other customers waiting, please excuse me.” He turned away before Tuuri could respond.

_Of all the sneaky, underhanded—_

“Uh...excuse me…”

Tuuri snapped her head around. “Yeah?”

One of the girls who had been hovering around Reynir sidled up and propped her elbows on the bar next to Tuuri. “You’re friends with the cute bartender, right? The redhead?” She twirled a strand of curly dark hair idly around her finger with studied nonchalance.

“Yeees,” Tuuri said, “Why?”

The girl pushed a drop of spilled water across the polished surface of the bar. “Well, I was wondering...does he have a girlfriend? Or...a boyfriend?”

The question hit Tuuri like a punch to the gut. _Oh, hell. What am I supposed to say? We’re not...official, but there’s no way I’m telling this girl that he’s single!_

Well, she didn’t have to give the whole truth, either. “You know, I’m honestly not sure? I _think_ he’s seeing someone, though. And she’s, like, totally hardcore.”

The other girl raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Tuuri said, warming to her story. “She’s a real badass. Does Jiu-Jitsu or Krav Maga or something. Also, she’s smokin’ hot.”

“Oh.” The other girl pushed away from the bar. “Well, thanks for your time.” She hurried away and started whispering to her friends.

 _Wow. I can’t believe she actually believed me!_ Tuuri slumped against the bar and reached for her water glass. Empty. Mikkel was still busy with his customers, but the crowd around Reynir was thinning—

“Hey, uh...you’re Reynir’s friend, right? The bartender?”

_ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!_

Tuuri plastered a fake smile on and turned to the speaker, another of the girls in Reynir’s fanclub. This one had purple hair in a jagged pixie cut, and she looked even more nervous than the last one. “Yeah, I am. So what?”

“Umm, well...I was going to ask you, but...hey, do you need a drink? Let me get it for you!” The girl reached for Tuuri’s empty glass, but Tuuri pulled it away.

“Look, it’s just water, I’m a cheap date. Can you just...say whatever it is you need to say?” She knew she was being rude, but she’d had just about enough of these too-pretty girls and their too-nosy questions about Reynir.

Pixie Cut swallowed hard. “Uh, well, I wanted to ask...that is, I was wondering...Reynir said…”

Tuuri lost the last of her patience. “Look, I already told your friend, I don’t _know_ if he has a girlfriend! Why don’t you ask him? Or, hey, you know what? Why don’t I just ask him myself, because I’d really like to know the answer too!” She set the glass down hard and stormed to the other end of the bar, leaving Pixie Cut staring after her.

Reynir was handing someone a pink drink with an umbrella in it when Tuuri got to him. “Careful, you don’t want to spill a drop of—Tuuri!” His face lit up at the sight of her. “Let me get you some water, you look like you need it.”

“No, wait!” Tuuri caught his hand as he started to reach for a glass. “I mean...I do need some water, but first I have something important to ask you.” Now that she was standing in front of him, she wondered why she’d gotten so worked up. She liked Reynir. He liked her. It shouldn’t be a hard question.

But it still wasn’t easy to get the words out. “See...these girls were asking me if you had a…” she took a deep breath, “if you had a girlfriend. And I didn’t know what to say, because we’ve been on dates and we get along really well and I like you an awful lot, but we haven’t exactly...talked about it?” She raised her eyes to his. “But I guess what I’m saying is, I’d like to.”

Reynir squeezed her hand. “You’d like to...be my girlfriend? Or talk about it?”

“Y...yes?” Tuuri shook her head. “I mean...yes, the first one. Unless you want to talk more about it, when you’re not at work and I’m not a nervous wreck.”

Reynir’s face blossomed into a smile. “Oh, good. I was hoping you meant the first one. I’d like that, too.” He squeezed her hand again and then let go to reach for a glass. “I was going to ask you about it later anyway. See, it’s kind of a crazy coincidence, but one of the customers just asked _me_ if _you_ had a boyfriend. When I said I didn’t know for sure she asked if you had a _girlfriend_ , or if I thought you’d say yes if she asked you out.”

Tuuri gaped at him. “What? Who was it? What did you tell her?”

Reynir shrugged. “Oh, I said I wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t hurt to ask you. I knew you’d let her down easy, or at least...I hoped you would. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said yes.” He nodded farther down the bar. “She’s over there.”

Tuuri followed his gaze to the girl with the purple pixie cut, who was drooping over her drink. “Oh. Oh, no, that poor girl! I might have...misunderstood.” She accepted the glass of water Reynir offered and took a step away, then paused, leaned toward him. “Hey, boyfriend?”

“Yes?” His grin was wide enough to split his face in two.

“C’mere.” She caught his chin in her free hand and pulled him down for a kiss. “Just in case anyone else is thinking of stealing you away.”

Reynir laughed and waved her off, still blushing as he turned to wait on the next customer. Tuuri couldn’t stop her heart from beating double time, but she did manage to get her expression more or less under control by the time she reached Pixie Cut.

“Hey.”

Pixie Cut looked up from her drink and then dropped her eyes. “Oh, it’s you. I guess you got your answer.”

Tuuri sighed. “Yeah. I’m sorry...I was a little harsh. I needed to clarify a few things, and I took it out on you.”

“Sure did,” Pixie Cut agreed.

“Look. I know I have no business asking this, but out of curiosity...you don’t happen to think our lead singer is cute, do you?”

Pixie Cut’s eyebrows shot up into her hair. “Wow. Yeah, that’s definitely none of your business. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Oh, no reason,” Tuuri said, “just that I know a lot of people think she’s good-looking—”

Pixie Cut snorted. “Good looking? More like smokin’ hot!”

“Right,” Tuuri said. “And I thought you _might_ be interested to know that if you buy her a couple of tequila shots and ask her to show you her favorite fighting moves, there’s a pretty good chance she’ll kiss you. If you’re into the whole ‘getting kissed by a stranger in a bar’ thing. Even if you aren’t, she’s a damn good kisser.” She shrugged. “Anyway, maybe that will help with your...disappointment.” She started to walk away.

Pixie Cut caught her arm. “Hey—thanks. And, uh...just curious, but my friend also thinks the blonde is kinda cute. Do you think he likes tequila too, or should she...?”

Tuuri grinned. “Sorry! I know he's pretty, but your friend is...definitely out of luck there. Besides, if Emil drinks tequila, he’ll start by giving _amazing_ fashion advice, then move on to laughing about things that aren’t funny and trying to get Lalli—the bassist—to hug him. Then he’ll fall asleep and I’ll have to haul him home. So...I’d stick to Sigrun and see how that goes for you.” She saluted Pixie Cut with her water glass and headed for the stage.

Tuuri was still smiling when slid behind her drums for the next set. Sigrun winked at her and elbowed Emil. “Looks like _someone’s_ in a better mood! Did you have a nice makeout session with Freckles?”

“I didn’t—”

Emil cut her off. “We totally saw you kiss him! C’mon, Tuuri,” he sidled closer to her drum kit, which was also conveniently out of Sigrun’s elbow-range. “Spill. What’s up with you and braid-boy?”

“Well…” Tuuri wasn’t sure her bandmates deserved any more information about her love life, since they seemed to be treating it as some kind of game. But...they were also her best friends. She should trust them, right? And they should find out from her before someone else told them. So she squared her shoulders and said, “Reynir is my boyfriend. Officially. So I can kiss him if I feel like it, okay?”

Sigrun and Emil beamed at her. Then Emil’s smile widened. “Hear that? They’re official.”

Sigrun’s smile grew strained. “Aww, sh—”

“YES!” Emil crowed. “Three for three!”

Sigrun groaned. “Dammit, Västerström!” She folded her arms and glared at Emil. “How do you keep doing this? I mean, congratulations on your boyfriend and everything, Tuuri, but you keep making me lose my bets!

Tuuri couldn’t decide whether she should be annoyed or amused. “It’s your own fault for betting in the first place. How much did Emil win from you this time?”

“Never mind that,” Sigrun growled, “we need to get this show on the road. Wipe the smirk off your face and go find Twig, he’s wandered off again.” Emil left, still grinning, and Sigrun sighed. “I gotta stop betting against that guy. I could have won if you’d just held out until the gig was over! I didn’t think you’d be able to get to him in that crowd.”

“Or maybe you should stop betting on _me,_ ” Tuuri suggested. “If it makes you feel better, a girl with purple hair is probably going to buy you a shot later. I told her you like tequila.”

“Ooh!” Sigrun ruffled Tuuri’s hair. “Hooking up with your boy _and_ hooking me up with free drinks! I’m so proud. Now come on, Troll Hunters,” she said, as Emil and Lalli joined them on the stage, “Let’s ROCK!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...lots of kissing in this chapter, huh? (Who am I and what have I done with Kiraly? I'LL NEVER TELL.)
> 
> No Onni this time, but we have more Sigrun and Mikkel to make up for it. Also, all _kinds_ of references to bits of headcanons I have for this story, which probably won't ever be explicitly stated since I don't want this fic to be a thousand chapters long. I haven't _officially_ decided how many more chapters there will be, but at least a few. (And I swear, it is actually leading up to something...I couldn't just take it to "then they kissed" and leave it there.)
> 
> Sooo...since I do have lots of headcanons, and I know I won't be able to include them all in the fic, if you have any questions about things that get mentioned, feel free to ask me! If I know it will be addressed later on I'll just say "spoilers" and stare off into the distance looking wise, but other things (like, "how does Tuuri know about Sigrun and tequila shots?") would be fair game. You can ask me on [Tumblr](http://worldsentwined.tumblr.com/), or message me on the SSSS forum, or in the comments here.
> 
> Also, because I'm curious to know, if anyone has any headcanon songs for the different characters, please tell me those too! (I may have need for them next chapter. *shifty eyes*)


	9. Discordant Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band hits a rough patch, but Tuuri and Reynir have a plan to fix things. A few other things, less easily fixed, bubble below the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHH I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER! I'm so sorry it took me so long, I seemed to want to work on everything but this. Anyway, it's done at last, and I hope you enjoy it.

_[Recovered from Tuuri Hotakainen’s “Trash” email folder]_

_Tuuri,_

_I hate to bring this up when you’re already mad at me, but the university called again. I asked for another deferral, but they won’t allow it unless you talk to them. They sent paperwork, which I’ve scanned and attached here. I’ve also mailed physical copies. I would give it to you in person, but I assume you’ll ‘accidentally’ forget it at the house again._

_I know you said you’re never going back, but please at least look at the papers, okay? There’s a whole section about scholarships, and you know I’d help you out if you’d let me. You’re too bright to stay at that job fixing bikes for the rest of your life. This is your future, and I worry about you._

_Please, read through it before you delete it all, okay?_

_Onni_

 

* * *

 

 _"_ Okay, I think I have it this time.

 _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_  
_You make me happy when skies are grey_  
_You’ll never know dear, how much I love you  
_ _Please don’t take my sunshine away.”_

Reynir played one final discordant note and grinned up at Tuuri. “So, how did I do?”

Tuuri had managed to hold in her laughter while he played, but now a giggle escaped her. “Hehee, I, uh, you were—”

Reynir burst out laughing. “I know, I’m so terrible! You’re going to have to give me more lessons.” He handed the ukulele back to her and was rewarded with a smile.

“Well, your _singing_ was good. You just need to work on your playing,” she said. “And anyway, it’s not like I’m all that good either. I’m probably not the best person to teach anyone how to play this thing.”

“I don’t know,” Reynir said, reaching around to put his arm over her shoulders. They sat side by side on her bed, soaking up the sun and taking turns with the ukulele. “You keep saying you’re not very good, but it doesn’t sound that way to me. You could definitely play it with the band, too. Maybe try that song you wrote? I liked that one.”

Tuuri sighed and shifted to the side so she could lean against Reynir’s chest. He made space for her, adjusting limbs until she sat in the circle of his arms and legs with her head under his chin. He liked the way she fit there, loose and comfortable. She’d fit him into her life—the band, her friends, her home—with the same ease.  

Not that everything was easy, of course. “Reynir, I keep telling you, that’s barely even a song! I still don’t have any words for it!”

“Well...can’t you make some up?”

“I can’t just—”

Reynir ignored Tuuri’s protest and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, humming the snatch of melody he remembered. “You have chords for it, right?” He placed his hands on hers, which still rested on the ukulele, and moved her right hand up and down in a strumming motion. “Just play what you have, and sing about...anything. Something you like.”

Tuuri chuckled and freed her hands. “Okay, fine, if you insist. Let’s see…” She plucked out a few notes, then eased into a chord progression. After a few repetitions, she started to sing.

_“Red-haired farm boy_

_Asking me to sing_

_Maybe we should_

_get some chicken wings—”_

“Tuuri!”

She broke off her playing and twisted around to look at him. “Yes?”

Reynir frowned. “You aren’t really trying, are you?” At her wide-eyed, innocent expression, he added, “Chicken wings?”

She dropped the innocent look in favor of a smirk. “I happen to like chicken wings!” She set the ukulele aside and turned towards him, looped her arms around his neck. “But now that you mention it...I can think of other things I like better.” She leaned up to kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand.

“Are you trying to distract me from asking about your song?” Not that he _minded_ that kind of distraction, but...he really wanted to know.

“Maaaaybe,” Tuuri admitted. “But I don’t think it’s something I can force. I’m not going to find the right words to that song by just... _winging_ it.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. “Oh, that was _awful_ Tuuri!” He couldn’t help laughing though, and she joined in.

“I know it was. But don’t worry, this won’t be,” she said. This time he didn’t hold her back, and they were both much too distracted for any more talking.

* * *

 

“That’s it, I’m done talking! Let’s settle this like civilized people!”

“Sigrun for the _last time,_ we are NOT wrestling over this! I won fair and square so we’re doing this MY way!”

“Your way is STUPID!”

The fight had been going for over an hour. Every time they managed to calm down and start playing again, something would happen—a missed note, a chord played too early, Sigrun throwing down her guitar in disgust—and they’d start all over again. And all because of Sigrun and Emil’s stupid bet.

“If I didn’t know better,” Sigrun continued, leaning close to Emil’s face, “I’d say you and Fuzzy-head rigged this. Do you SWEAR you didn’t put her up to it?”

Emil bristled. “No! I’ve already told you three times, Tuuri and Reynir became ‘official’ without any prompting from me. And frankly, I’m offended that you keep asking if I cheated! I won the bet, so stop arguing!”

Sigrun narrowed her eyes. “You’re out of line, Pretty Boy.”

“And _you’re_ a sore loser.”

“That’s it!” Sigrun snatched her guitar and pushed past Emil. “If you want creative control so badly, you can have it. I’m not going to stand around being insulted! I quit!” She yanked the door open with a squeal of hinges.

Tuuri had been watching the back-and-forth from the safety of her drum kit, but this was a development she hadn’t expected. “Wait, Sigrun...isn’t that a little extreme? Just because Emil gets to make the decisions for one song—”

“It’s not just one song, it’s everything! How am I supposed to ROCK when he insists on cramping my style?”

“At least I _have_ a style! You’re all over the place, like a—”

“Hey!” Tuuri flung herself between them just in time to stop Sigrun from launching herself at Emil. “We’re supposed to be working together, not sniping at each other! If you two can’t agree…maybe we just need to take a break.”

Sigrun glowered at Emil over Tuuri’s head. “A break. Yeah, I can think of some things I’d like to break. Sorry, Fuzzy-head, but this isn’t going to work.”

* * *

 

“...and then she just turned around and left! I don’t know what to do, Reynir. They’ve fought before, but never like this.” Tuuri sighed into her smoothie and leaned on the table. “It seems like...recently, both of them are so stressed about the band doing well.”

Reynir’s brow furrowed. “But...I thought you _were_ doing well. The bar’s always crowded on the nights you play, and people keep asking me where they can buy the album. Isn’t that...good?” He slurped a mouthful of his own drink—which was green, and tasted the way the plants his mother grew on the kitchen windowsill smelled. It reminded him of home.

Tuuri shrugged. “I’m not sure. When we first started, it didn’t matter if we were good or bad. And, well...we were _really_ bad! But it was fun. We threw ideas around, bounced them off each other until we had something that sounded cool. Sigrun and Emil once spent a whole night writing a song by going back and forth, each person coming up with the next word. It was hilarious—and awful, _no one_ would want to listen to it—and they were so proud. We played it at every show for _weeks_ afterward. But now...like you said, people actually seem to _like_ us. And there’s pressure to be _good_ , so we’re more worried about that than having fun.”

Reynir drummed his fingers on the table. “Hmm. I wonder...would it help to do something like that again? Something that isn’t about promoting the band, but just...fun? Maybe it would remind them of what it used to be like.”

“It could, but I don’t see how that’s going to happen. Emil and Sigrun aren’t even speaking to each other right now.” Tuuri sighed. “And anyway, what kind of fun thing could we get them to do?”

Reynir felt a slow smile spread across his face. “I might have some ideas there.” He’d been asking around for fun summer activities, preferably things that wouldn’t break his slender budget, in the hope that he’d get some good ideas for dates with Tuuri. And he still wanted to do that—but this was more important. “I’m not sure how to get both of them to come though, if they’re really that mad.”

Tuuri sipped her sunshine-colored smoothie and thought. Eventually she said, “You know what? I’ll leave the fun activity up to you. You’re really good at that part. And it will leave me free to figure out the part _I’m_ good at.”

“Which is…?” Reynir asked. There was an edge to Tuuri’s voice that he hadn’t heard before.

Tuuri grinned. “Let’s just say there’s a reason my nickname in school was ‘Bunny Weasel’. I’m going to make a few calls.”

* * *

 

**_Transcript from Tuuri’s phone:_ **

_Conversation between Tuuri Hotakainen and Sigrun Eide_

TUURI: Hey, what are you up to tonight?

SIGRUN: FUZZY HEAD

SIGRUN: I HAVE A DATE

TUURI: Oh, okay.

SIGRUN: WITH BOOZE

SIGRUN: SO MUCH BOOZE

SIGRUN: WANNA COME BOOZE WITH ME???

SIGRUN: PLENTY TO GO AROUND

TUURI: ...Sigrun, you’re drinking right now, aren’t you?

SIGRUN: MAYBE

TUURI: That’s what I thought.

TUURI: So to clarify...you don’t have a date with a person, you’re just drinking?

SIGRUN: MAAAAAAYBE

TUURI: Okay.

TUURI: Sure, I’ll join you. Let’s go out, have a girls’ night!

SIGRUN: YEAH!!!

SIGRUN: PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY

SIGRUN: BUT WAIT

SIGRUN: SPARKLY SPAWN OF SATAN ISN’T COMING

SIGRUN: RIGHT???

TUURI: Emil? No, I’m not going to bring him to girls’ night.

SIGRUN: GOOD

SIGRUN: NO WHINING TO RUIN THE PARTY

SIGRUN: PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY!!!

TUURI: Haha, okay. Party it is. I know just the place, let me text you the address.

_Conversation between Tuuri Hotakainen and Mikkel Madsen_

TUURI: Remember that favor you owe me?

MIKKEL: …I suppose

TUURI: I’m about to call and ask for something. You’re going to say yes.

 

_Conversation between Tuuri Hotakainen and FARMER BOY [Reynir Árnason]_

TUURI: Tonight is a go.

TUURI: Do you think you can handle your part?

REYNIR: I’ll do my best!

REYNIR: Thanks for letting me help with this. <3

TUURI: And thank you for helping! <3

* * *

 

Emil opened the door on Reynir’s second knock. “What are you doing here? Tuuri isn’t home.”

“I know!” Reynir said, “She and Sigrun are having girls’ night.”  
Emil narrowed his eyes. “Sigrun.”

Reynir plunged ahead with the rest of his speech before Emil could start complaining about Sigrun. “So I thought, if they can have a girls’ night, we should have a boys’ night!”

“A _boys’_ night?” Emil’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

Not a very enthusiastic response, but at least he hadn’t said ‘no’. “Sure! Now that Tuuri and I are...you know...”

“Spending every waking moment together?” Emil finished.

“Dating,” Reynir corrected, “I thought it would be cool to spend some time with you and Lalli. Get to know you better. If you want?”

Emil didn’t look convinced, but he stood aside and waved Reynir through the door. “So what were you thinking about doing for this...boys’ night?”

Reynir grinned and rummaged in his bag until he came up with a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed the flyer and held it up so Emil could see. There was a picture of a microphone surrounded by bright colors, and the words _Voted 3rd-best in the City._ “How do you feel about karaoke?”

* * *

 

 _“Karaoke?!”_ Sigrun’s voice was laced with disgust. “I thought we were going out to drink, not listen to a bunch of sad-sacks cry into a microphone.”

Tuuri rolled her eyes and passed her credit card to the bartender. “Have you ever _been_ to karaoke? It’s not like that! Or at least, not _usually,_ ” she admitted, “sometimes it is. Give it a chance! I promise it’s fun, and the booze is cheap.”

Sigrun snorted, but she took her drink and led the way to a table. “Fine. But if it sucks, we’re blowing this joint and going dancing, deal?”

“Deal,” Tuuri said. _Hopefully she’ll stick it out long enough for the boys to get here._ Much of her plan hinged on how well she knew her bandmates and the way they’d respond in certain situations. So far Sigrun was acting about how Tuuri had expected. Hopefully she’d guessed right about Emil, too.

Her phone buzzed. _On our way,_ Reynir said. Tuuri allowed herself a small smile. _Excellent._

At the table, Sigrun paged through a giant binder full of laminated pages. “So you have to actually _read_ this to figure out what you’re going to sing? Who has time for that?”

Tuuri dragged the book across the table. “You _could_ also just look for a song and see if they have it. Here, I’ll find one for you. Unless you’re too scared to sing?”

Sigrun glowered over the rim of her glass. “Is that a challenge, Short Stuff?”

“Yes.” Tuuri scrawled something on a piece of paper and passed it off to the DJ. “And now your name is in, so you have to do it!”

“Fine, fine, I guess I’ll spice this place up a little. As long as you didn’t pick a stupid—NO. What is _he_ doing here?!”

Tuuri whipped around to look at the door—it was too early for the others to be here, unless somehow Reynir’s message had been delayed—and had to rub her eyes and look again. _Really? I only wanted him on standby to make sure Sigrun got home. I didn’t think he’d actually show up._ She turned back to Sigrun. “Well this is unexpected! What do you think, should we ask him to sit with us?”

Sigrun was still staring at the door. Then she shook her head, waved her arm in the air and shouted, “HEY MADS! GET OVER HERE AND GET ME A DRINK!”

Mikkel ambled over and leaned on an empty chair. “I’m not the bartender here, you have to get your own drinks tonight.”

Sigrun rolled her eyes. “Aww, come on, I need booze if I’m going to survive this. Can you believe people actually _like_ coming to karaoke nights?”

Mikkel’s eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. “I enjoy karaoke night. Why else would I be here?”

“You’re kidding,” Sigrun said. Mikkel just looked at her. “Oh hell, you’re _not_ kidding. This night just keeps getting worse and...worse. Shit.”

The last word came out flat and cold, and when Tuuri followed Sigrun’s gaze she saw why. Emil walked through the door, followed closely by Lalli and Reynir. Emil froze, stared at Sigrun, then turned and glared at Tuuri’s boyfriend. Reynir, bless him, held up his hands in an almost-convincing display of surprise.

Tuuri had her own acting to do. “Huh. Looks like the guys decided to come here too! What are the odds of that?”

If looks could kill, Sigrun’s expression was a triple homicide. “Coincidence, Stubby?”

If Sigrun was using _that_ nickname, she was definitely annoyed. But not mad enough to leave, yet. So instead of protesting, Tuuri went on with her charade. “Yeah, isn’t it weird? But hey, I guess we don’t _have_ to stay if you don’t want to be in the same room as Emil. We can just leave and let them have this bar.”

Sigrun narrowed her eyes. “Like hell we will! We were here first! If Emil has a problem with my singing, _he_ can leave!”

She made no effort to keep her voice down, and Emil scowled. He caught Lalli by the arm and gestured for Reynir to follow, then stalked to the table next to them. “This seems like as good a place as any,” he said, voice artificially loud. “I don’t think much of this place’s clientele, but we’ll just have to suffer through whatever garbage music _some people_ decide to inflict on us.”

Sigrun folded her arms and leaned back in her chair as the background music cut off and the DJ called for the first singer. “I am so not drunk enough for this.”

Tuuri headed for the bar. “Let me get you some tequila.”

* * *

 

Karaoke was...different...than Reynir had expected. Sure, he’d known there would be singing, and that probably some of the people singing would be better at it than others. But that hadn’t prepared him for the experience of watching his boss stand on a tiny stage, straight-faced and with microphone in hand, singing Celine Dion in the most droning monotone imaginable.

_“Near. Far. Wherever you are. I believe that the heart does go on…”_

In the chair next to him, Emil was twitching with the effort of not covering his ears. “Is he _serious_ right now?” he leaned over to whisper. Reynir shrugged; he’d never heard Mikkel sing before, even though there was always music playing somewhere in the bar. He certainly _seemed_ to be enjoying himself, though. The same could not be said for the rest of the bar’s patrons. Most of the people at the nearby tables muttered to each other, or attempted to carry on their conversations like nothing was happening. Several of them shifted in their seats, looking uncomfortable every time Mikkel held his one-note a little too long. Lalli, hunched in the chair next to Emil, actually _had_ covered his ears.

A glance at Tuuri—just a glance, because they were supposed to be pretending they hadn’t planned this whole outing—confirmed that even she was looking a little strained. And then there was Sigrun.

“Stubby,” he heard clearly over the music, “you’re certain you _didn’t_ invite him, right?” She drained her drink and slammed her glass on the table.

Tuuri said something in return, too quiet for Reynir to hear, but apparently it appeased Sigrun enough to keep her at the table. When the song ended and Mikkel returned to his seat—and the entire room heaved a collective sigh of relief—she punched his arm and managed a grin.

“Was that necessary?” Mikkel asked.

“Was _that?”_ Sigrun replied, gesturing at the stage.

Emil was up next. “Well, at least I can’t do worse,” he said, fluffing his hair on his way to the stage.

“Don’t be too sure about that, you can always mess up _somehow_ ,” Sigrun called.

Emil blushed, glared, then deliberately turned away from her. “Impossible. I could sing this one in my sleep.”

Words appeared on the screen, and as Emil sang the room grew quiet.

 _“I let it fall, my heart,_  
_And as it fell you rose to claim it_  
_It was dark and I was over_  
_Until you kissed my lips and you saved me...”_

“Hey.” Reynir startled at Tuuri’s voice in his ear. “Can I buy you a drink, Farm Boy?”

Reynir glanced at the rest of their friends—Lalli was watching the stage, Mikkel was sipping his drink while Sigrun alternated rude comments at him and Emil—and nodded. They slipped away, fingers locked together. Reynir started in the direction of the bar, but Tuuri pulled him up short, out of sight of the karaoke area.

“Hold on.” She rose on her toes and drew him down, pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “I missed you,” she murmured.

Reynir felt his ears turning red—would he _ever_ get to the point where Tuuri didn’t make him blush? Probably not—and brushed the fingers of his free hand through the hair that fell over her forehead. “I missed you too,” he said. “Do you think it’s working? They’re being really rude to each other.”

Tuuri teased a strand of hair out of the thatch that framed his face and twirled it. “Oh yes. Sigrun and Emil are always rude to each other about music. If it keeps going like this, maybe they’ll actually be rude to each other _directly_ instead of making comments to the room in general.”

“Or making passive-aggressive digs at each other with their song choices?” Reynir asked. He could still hear Emil singing in the other room.

 _“But there's a side to you_  
_That I never knew, never knew._  
_All the things you'd say_  
_They were never true, never true…”_

“What, that?” Tuuri shook her head. “I don’t think that’s about Sigrun, Emil _loves_ that song. He sings it in the shower at least once a week.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise Reynir, but he wasn’t convinced. “And Sigrun? Does she sing _You’re So Vain_ in the shower?”

Tuuri laughed and leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest. “Okay, you’re probably right about that one, it isn’t really her kind of song. Anyway,” she straightened up, pulling away but keeping hold of his hand, “we should probably see about that drink before the others get too suspicious. Wouldn’t want them to think we sneaked off to kiss, would we?”

Reynir chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “No, we wouldn’t.”

_“But I set fire to the rain,  
Watched it pour as I touched your face…”_

* * *

 

By the time they got back to their tables—which took longer than expected, because Reynir had insisted they pause so he could thank Tuuri for buying his drink in a way that was satisfying for both of them—Emil’s song was over. A gaggle of girls had replaced him on the stage, and were in the process of discovering how few of the words to _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ they actually knew. Reynir slipped off to his own table, and Tuuri joined Sigrun and Mikkel.

“Fuzzy-head! We’re playing a GAME!” Sigrun raised her glass and attempted to clink it against Tuuri’s.

Mikkel sighed. “By which she means, she’s taking a drink every time one of them sings “turn around bright eyes” at the wrong time. It’s more of a recipe for alcohol poisoning than a game.”

Sigrun elbowed him. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Mads, you were playing too.” She leaned her elbows on the table and smirked at Tuuri. “And what about _you?_ Playing some fun games with Freckles, eh?”

Tuuri couldn’t help blushing. “I just wanted to buy my boyfriend a drink, Sigrun, what’s wrong with that?”

Sigrun waved her away. “Not that, I don’t care if you were making out or getting it on in the bathroom.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Unless...wait, _were_ you actually getting it on in the bathroom? Because I think I have money on something like that.”

“What? No!” Tuuri choked on her drink, and Mikkel had to pat her hard on the back. When she recovered, she said, “You and Emil aren’t even talking! How do you still have bets on me?”  
“Ha!” Sigrun leveled a finger at her. “I knew it! You’re trying to get us to make up!”

“Sigrun, that doesn’t even make—”

“Oh, come on, it’s totally obvious. Freckles can’t keep a secret, his face gives everything away. You want the Prince of Pout and me to have such a bad time at this...this _hole_ where music comes to die that we’ll stop fighting and get the band back together. Right?”

Tuuri stared at her. “Uh…that’s not exactly...”

“Because it might actually work, these people are _terrible._ Hey, it’s my song!” Sigrun pushed out of her seat and charged for the stage.

Tuuri turned to Mikkel. “I swear I didn’t _want_ them to have a bad time!”

He raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink. “But you’re annoyed you didn’t think of it, aren’t you?”

Tuuri folded her arms and frowned. “Maybe.”

Onstage, Sigrun growled into the microphone and sang like she wanted to fight every person in the audience.

 _“This shattered dream you cannot justify_  
_We're gonna scream until we're satisfied_  
_What are we running for?_  
_We've got the right to be angry_  
_What are we running for?”_

At least she wasn’t deliberately trying to annoy Emil now. When Tuuri looked over at him, he seemed mildly impressed. Or at least, happier than Lalli—who had given up all pretense of wanting to be there and was hiding under the table—and more interested in the song than Reynir was. Reynir kept casting glances at Tuuri, and when he caught her looking back a dreamy smile crossed his face. Tuuri’s mouth stretched into an answering grin.

“So you two are working out, I see.”

Tuuri tore her gaze away from Reynir to answer Mikkel. “Sure. Why, did you think we wouldn’t? _You’re_ not in on this ridiculous betting, are you?”

Mikkel shrugged. “Oh, no. I just assumed you might have run into some difficulties, that’s all. Most relationships do.”

“Hmph.” Tuuri took a large swallow of her drink. “Not ours. Everything’s great between Reynir and me. It’s Sigrun and Emil’s friendship I’m worried about.” _And the band’s future._

Mikkel nodded. “Of course. I meant no discourtesy. I’m sure you and Reynir have everything worked out for when he has to leave at the end of the summer.”

_What?_

Sigrun’s song pounded into Tuuri’s ears, almost covering her racing heartbeat.

 _“And with the power of conviction_  
_There is no sacrifice_  
_It's a do or die situation_  
_We will be invincible…”_

“When you say... _leaving_ at the end of the summer...what do you mean?” Tuuri asked, careful to keep her voice level.

“Hmm? Oh. Well, he hasn’t said anything to me about quitting yet, but I’d assumed. Those internships don’t last all year, they can’t afford to pay them when the farmer’s market doesn’t run. But who knows, maybe he has another job lined up that I don’t know about.”

The words reached Tuuri as though coming from a long distance. “Yeah...I’m sure that’s it…” she muttered. Her mind raced. _Leaving? He can’t be, can he? He would have told me._ Unless he didn’t want to think about it. Maybe he was trying to avoid upsetting her. Tuuri knew all about that kind of avoidance; she’d been Onni’s sister for her whole life, after all. Sometimes it was better to not talk about things. _But...Reynir doesn’t think that way about me. He knows he can tell me anything._

 _But he didn’t tell you his job only lasts for the summer,_ a traitorous voice whispered. Tuuri pushed it aside—there _was_ an explanation, there _must_ be—and forced her attention back to the stage. Sigrun’s song was ending, and Reynir took the microphone.

“Hi! So...uh, this seems kinda silly after that, but, hopefully you’ll like it?”

_Oh, Reynir. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more adorable._

“It’s not really in my range or anything, but it’s fun to sing, and maybe some of you will sing along…”

_I just wish I knew if Mikkel was telling the truth. What if you really are going away?_

“...and...anyway, here it is!” He tightened his grip on the microphone, took a deep breath, and sang.

 _“Look at this stuff,_  
_Isn’t it neat?_  
_Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete?”_

It wasn’t _bad,_ exactly. He hit his notes—an octave down, but that was to be expected—and got the words right. But he stammered his way through it, and blushed furiously the whole time, clinging to the microphone like a lifeline. Tuuri was utterly charmed.

Sigrun snorted. “Wow, your boyfriend sure is...something.”

Tuuri glared at her. “He’s nervous! He hasn’t done this before.”

Emil leaned back in his chair to join the conversation. “I’ll say. But hey, he definitely has that Little Mermaid thing going on with his hair, even if he can’t sing.”

Tuuri rounded on him. “He _can_ sing! I’ve heard him. Not everyone can just get up on a stage and—”

“Nice one, Pretty Boy!” Sigrun said, punching Emil in the shoulder. “He _does_ look like the Little Mermaid, doesn’t he? Maybe he gave his voice away.”

“Sigrun!”

“I guess he _is_ doing better than Mikkel,” Sigrun continued, completely ignoring Tuuri’s protest, “but I’d hate to hear the two of them do a duet. No karaoke nights at the Mad Moose, for the sake of all our ears, okay Mads?”

“Ha, can you imagine?” Emil said. “It’d just be those two and the band switching off, while the rest of the crowd falls asleep in their beer.”

“Not when _I_ sing, I’d wake them up!”

Tuuri closed her mouth and watched as Emil and Sigrun bantered back and forth, debating what songs should be on the Mad Moose’s karaoke list and who would get the best crowd response. She almost didn’t notice when Reynir left the stage and pulled his chair over next to hers.

“It looks like you were right. All they needed was a little fun!” His face was still flushed from the stage lights, and his eyes sparkled. “Did I do a good job?”

Instead of answering, Tuuri kissed him. “You did,” she said eventually, breathing the words against his mouth. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

Reynir put his hands on her waist and tugged until she shifted over to sit on his lap. “You know I’d help you with anything,” he whispered.

_Even with the things I don’t know about?_

She didn’t have time to think of a way to say it though, because Emil got called up for another song and was looking around in confusion. “But I didn’t...I don’t have any other songs in, this place doesn’t even have most of my favorites. How—”

Sigrun hauled him out of his chair. “Go on, you have to go sing! You know this one, it goes with that Swedish flag tattooed on your—”

“Just because I like _Movits_ doesn’t mean I like _all_ Swedish—wait, Sigrun, did _you_ put me in for this?” He caught her arm as she moved toward her chair. “Oh no, you got me into this, you’re going to sing it with me.”

“Like hell I—”

“Well, if neither of you want to sing this one, I can do it.”

Sigrun and Emil turned to stare at Mikkel, then looked at each other. “Right,” Sigrun said, “it’s a duet. Come on, little Viking.”

Emil downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down with a _thunk,_ and smoothed his hair. “I’m not a Viking right now, Sigrun. I’m a DANCING QUEEN!”

* * *

 

**_Transcript from Tuuri’s phone:_ **

_Conversation between Tuuri Hotakainen and Onni Hotakainen_

TUURI: yooooou can dance yoooooou can jiiiive

TUURI: having the TIME OF YOUR LIFE

TUURI: ooooh

ONNI: Tuuri??

ONNI: Are you all right?

TUURI: ahahhaha yeaaaaah

TUURI: just drunk

TUURI: and happy

TUURI: do you know why?

ONNI: Why??

TUURI: ‘cuz I’m NEVER GOING BACK TO SCHOOL hehehe

ONNI: …

ONNI: Is this about the email?

ONNI: I didn’t say you had to take any action right now

ONNI: I only wanted you to think about it

ONNI: Where are you? If you’re drunk, I don’t want you driving home

TUURI: don’t cry big brother

TUURI: not driving

TUURI: JIVING

TUURI: and taking a bus

TUURI: cuz I am the DANCING QUEEEEEEEEN

ONNI: …

ONNI: Fine.

ONNI: Call me when you’re sober, I guess.

* * *

 

After Emil and Sigrun’s ABBA duet, the night got...silly. At least, that was how Reynir remembered it later, because it was all a little fuzzy at the time. He was mostly aware of Emil and Sigrun challenging each other to increasingly ridiculous songs, Mikkel plowing his way through _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , and Tuuri leaving his lap for long enough to sing _Walking on Sunshine._ There was an awkward moment when Sigrun dragged Lalli onto the stage, where he stood, silently watching words scroll down the screen—

 _Hello darkness, my old friend_  
_I’ve come to talk with you again..._

—until Emil put an arm around him and led him outside to get some air. Through it all, Tuuri stayed close to Reynir, singing along with the music until eventually the late hour and the alcohol caught up with her. She pillowed her head on his shoulder and sighed in her sleep.

“Gonna need any help gettin’ fluffshy...fussyhead... _her_ home?” Sigrun slurred. “We were gonna cab a ged. Gedda cab. No drivin’.”

“I think I can handle her,” Reynir said. He still felt—fuzzy, _that_ was the word Sigrun had been going for—from the couple of drinks he'd had, but he was definitely in better shape than Sigrun. “Are _you_ okay to get home?”

“I’ve got her,” Mikkel said. He slung an arm around Sigrun’s shoulders with practiced ease. “Won’t be the first time I’ve dragged her home. I think Emil and Lalli are outside, if you want to split a cab with them.”

Tuuri’s roommates were outside, but they shook their heads at the idea of a cab. “Bus is cheaper,” Lalli muttered. He seemed perfectly sober and slightly uncomfortable with Emil giggling into his shoulder. “This way,” he added, walking away and gesturing for Reynir to follow.

They caught a bus, which Emil said was “magic” before falling asleep on Lalli, and Tuuri roused a little at the light and noise.

“We...going home?” she asked.

“Mmhmm,” Reynir said. He rested his chin on her head.

“...can drive you home?”

“Not tonight,” he said. He’d already asked Lalli about sleeping on the couch, and gotten a “mrrr” in response that probably meant yes.

She asked again when they got to the house, as Reynir was trying to figure out how to get her to let go of him so he could pull a blanket over her. “Not...gonna leave me?”

“No, I’m just going to sleep downstairs. Lalli said I can have the couch.” He could hear Lalli muttering something in the next room, where Emil was apparently objecting to being left alone too. _Maybe we should all have just crashed in the living room._

“So you’re...staying?”

“Yes, I’m staying.”

“Good. Don’t...don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t. Good night, sweetheart.”

“G’night.”

* * *

 

_[Recovered from Reynir Árnason’s trash can (and knocked under the desk by the cat)]_

_To-do:_

  * _Harvest zucchini_
  * _Harvest tomatoes_
  * _Farmer’s Market (2 hours)_
  * _Smoothies with Tuuri_
  * _Farm tour_
  * _Finish resume_
  * _Write cover letter_
  * _Submit job applications_
  * _Look at apartment listings_
  * _~~Ask Tuuri if she knows anyone who’s looking for roommates~~ no not yet_
  * _Tuuri’s house (the PLAN)_
  * _See Tuuri_
  * _Hang out with Tuuri (and band)_
  * _(hopefully) kiss Tuuri_



 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs quoted or mentioned in this chapter:  
>  _You Are My Sunshine_ by Jimmie Davis and Charles Mitchell  
>  _My Heart Will Go On_ by Celine Dion  
>  _Set Fire To The Rain_ by Adele  
>  _You're So Vain_ by Carly Simon  
>  _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ by Bonnie Tyler  
>  _Invincible_ by Pat Benatar  
>  _Part of Your World_ by Jodi Benson (from _The Little Mermaid_ )  
>  _Dancing Queen_ by ABBA  
>  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen  
>  _Walking on Sunshine_ by Katrina  & the Waves  
>  _The Sound of Silence_ by Simon and Garfunkel  
>  (These do not belong to me, obviously).
> 
> So there you have it - the long-awaited, much-lamented karaoke chapter. If you follow me on Tumblr, you've probably seen me complaining about trying to figure out good songs to use for each of the crew. Although I don't know that I've hit on the perfect songs, I also realized that as long as there were other things happening around them it wouldn't matter much. Many, MANY thanks to Minutia-r, Jureeya, catbean, Talimee, and homecriticismchef for suggesting songs or talking about what music you think the characters would listen to. (Even if I didn't use every suggestion, know that I appreciate you! And I used your AO3 names instead of your Tumblr names unless I didn't know who you are on AO3.) I may have gotten suggestions from other people during chats as well, so if I've forgotten you let me know. ^_^
> 
> Also...looks like there might be a little drama coming, doesn't it? I promise it's all for a reason, and...hopefully there's enough cute interspersed to keep it from being too sad. And you may notice that I've updated the chapter count - I'm _pretty_ sure that there will only be two more chapters after this, unless something gets out of control. However, that definitely _won't_ be the end of this AU - I have some ideas for other little stories, and there's going to be a 5-6 chapter spinoff about Emil and Lalli. (I've actually started writing that, but I'm not going to post any of it until this arc is finished.)
> 
> Anyway...as always, feel free to talk to me about this or ask things or whatever you feel like doing!


End file.
